


Apocalypse Fucking Now

by PippinPips, SatanInACroptop



Category: Supernatural, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Also Raven is the Queen of Sass, Alternate Universe - Fusion, And Erik can be a troll sometimes, And dude that fucking angel!, Angels man, Because Shaw is always a warning, Character Death, Erik is fucking badass, Erik is fucking feral, F/M, He is also pretty adorbs, Hunters, M/M, Man that angel, Those Fucking Winchesters, Timeline, Violence, Warning for Shaw, Well maybe not so much now, What fucking timeline, also warning for messing with canons, and Hank is jittery, and yeah that angel, because Charles, but for the most part the boys are kind of just really messed up, there is none, they got issues too, you won't believe who we made an angel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PippinPips/pseuds/PippinPips, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatanInACroptop/pseuds/SatanInACroptop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ending. The time to make your peace was yesterday. And yet Erik still can't find the fucking air to tell Charles how he feels. He should probably get on that, if demons breaking every fucking seal imaginable have anything to say about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In With a Bang and a Bit of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> We'll most likely end up explaining a lot of things SPN (Supernatural) related. And if you get lost we'll be more than happy to clarify anything for you.

Erik is the first one to stumble into the motel room his chest heaving and his wounds bleeding, Charles is the second--he’s only slight less wounded as they both nearly fall onto the dirty carpet. They look at each other, both assessing who first gets the medical treatment. Erik opens his mouth quick to demand that Charles gets patched up, but Charles sends in a sharp piercing feeling of discontent at the idea.   
  
“Shirt off,” he commands. Erik stills for a moment and debates whether it is worth it to argue with his partner. He is the one with the bloodier shirt and the look Charles gives him tells him exactly how well he will take any arguments. Slowly, Erik pulls the shirt off and winces as it pulls a the half dried blood of his wounds. At his side, Charles sucks in a breath. “I’m getting the kit.”   
  
“It’s not that bad,” Erik argues.   
  
Charles shoots him a look as he opens the kit, taking care to sanitize the needle before stringing it with dental floss. “Continue to fight me on this Erik, see where it gets you. It’ll be Memphis all over again.”  
  
Erik remembers Memphis a little too well for his taste. He settles on the edge of his bed, but not before he glares at Charles. His partner merely shrugs off the look and steps closer to him. He places a hand on Erik’s chest, and Erik barely keeps himself from reacting to the feel of Charles’ skin against his. Treating each other’s wounds wasn’t something knew, Erik reminds himself. It was not about to be the last time either.   
  
“Who the hell were they?” he asks. Charles hums low in his throat as he dabs the wound with a bit of Erik’s own liquor.   
  
“I don’t know, but they obviously knew us. Or else they are the type of people who seem to like to chase two unsuspecting men through a cattle field only to watch them get tangled in barbed wire,” Charles muses.   
  
“They wouldn’t have been just watching if you hadn’t decided to steal their memories. Again.” Erik adds. His tone is one that Charles knows well. He also knows the exact way the conversation will go if Erik continues on his path. Brushing a hand along Erik’s neck he sighs.   
  
“This again? I only did it because you decided to use the barbwire. Erik, you know what will happen!”  
  
“There’s no one to talk if no one is alive,” Erik presses. Charles nearly throws his hands into the air, but instead he takes one deep breath.   
  
“That’s  his thinking,” Charles reminds him. Erik closes his mouth, but the look in his eye tells how deeply the comment went. Except, Charles doesn’t apologize, he purses his lips and returns to the wound, yet he makes no move to stitch the wound. They sit in silence, the words no longer necessary for two men of their histories.   
  
_At fourteen, Erik is not a man of vast intelligence. He’s not quite a man either, in a way that has nothing to do with age, and everything to do with the feral violence of his nature. Charles had once read about savage children, raised without human contact, no language, no morals, no forgiveness. That is what he sees when Erik attacks him for the first time. There is no man there, only the animal forced by a demon to fight for his food, for his survival.  
  
Charles isn’t very quick the first time. Fighting is new, his powers are new, and all of it is simply far too much for a twelve year old boy to take in in a few hours. But Seb is determined to waste no time at all in bleeding the newcomer like a stuck pig, which is exactly what he likes after a few minutes in the arena with Erik. He takes a blow to the head and a boot to the chin before Charles mind is able to latch onto the older boy’s, engulfing it like an invisible vice with one command only, STOP. And as Seb is applauding, as Erik is frozen, Charles is working. His first words to Erik that he actually understands are not spoken out loud, but in a far more personal manner, the only way which he can understand for quite sometime. ‘Calm down. My name is Charles. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to get us out of here.’  
  
‘Out?’ the should-be-human boy thinks back, as if its a foreign concept, which it is.  
  
‘Free.’_  
  
Erik eventually coughs, breaking the silence, and Charles shakes his head. He smiles and it’s a little pained, but Erik knows that smile better than he knows his own. It only takes him a moment before he places a hand on Charles’ own, about to tell him how he understands. Those moments when he acts so much like  him , he understands the memories that appear without warning.   
  
“Do you want something to bite down on?” Charles asks finally. Erik shakes his head. He knows how to handle pain. They both do, he reminds himself. Charles hovers to start the stitching when the door swings open with a loud bang. The figure in the door is familiar, but the intrusion brings to light how much they were dallying.   
  
“I would think you liked that form or something,” Erik comments. The figure saunters further into the room and shares a wince with him as Charles starts to thread the needle through his skin. She twirls, hands lifted into the air and a smile on her face.   
“It does what it can for me,” she admits.   
  
“Nice to see you too, Raven,” Charles greets, but his concentration is firmly on his work. Neither of them ask her what she’s doing, or why she’s decided to visit them, they never do ask. She flops onto Charles’ bed her hair spread out behind her in a halo. She’s blonde for the moment and very pretty. Erik doesn’t ask where she got her appearance from, he’s lost that curiosity after the first few months.   
  
“What happened to you two?” she asks, rolling onto her stomach. Her eyes fill with worry as she looks over the bloody shirts and pants.   
  
“Hunters,” Erik grits out.   
  
“Again?” Charles hums the affirmative, too busy with keeping his stitches neat to open his mouth too often. “Wow, you two are getting sort of popular.”   
  
“Please tell me we aren’t,” Erik pauses and winces once more as Charles starts on another area that needs stitching, “Winchester famous.” He spits out the word like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Charles barely hides the roll of his eyes.   
  
“I would’ve heard more about you if you were  Winchester Famous ,” Raven tells him. “And I’m pretty sure your buddy Hank would be talking to you.”   
  
“We haven’t heard a peep from Hank, so that answers that,” Charles says quietly. “I don’t know why you dislike them so much, Erik, I really don’t.” Erik snorts.   
  
“Because people like them. Erik hates that they mess up so much but people still like them,” Raven adds. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik watches as she leans forward intent on his flask.   
  
“Raven, please, if you take his flask he’s going to get up and pull it away from you. In the process of him attacking you, he’ll rip out the stitches and I will be very cross about that.” Like magic she stops and her eyes narrow one Charles’ back.   
  
“My problem with them,” Erik gets them back on track, “is that they would kill you and Raven without batting an eye. Especially Raven.”   
  
“Hey!” Raven sputters. She reaches forward and smacks a hand against Erik’s thigh. “And to think I was going to confide in you guys!”   
  
“Would both of you quit squabbling?” Charles asks, his tone one of exasperation. “All right Erik, you’re done.” Taking a step back, Charles looks him over almost as if he was appraising his handy work.   
  
“Your turn,” Erik reminds him. Charles sends him a look, one that says that he would really rather not take off his shirt, but Erik just levels him one of his own.   
  
“Fine,” Charles sighs.   
  
“Excuse me boys! Uh, I am still here with information that could be prevalent to your interests!” Raven waves her hands at them.   
  
Shirt promptly on the floor, Charles takes care not to look at Erik while he’s being inspected. The scars that criss cross his pale flesh are jagged and fading, as most of them are not from monsters or demons, but the man standing before him. Charles doesn’t like the sad expression that crosses the man’s face from time to time when he’s getting patched up, and Erik dislikes his pity even more. Its a sore subject best avoided at all costs. Fortunately, they have more pressing matters, though to convince Erik that anything on earth is more important than the safety and well-being of Charles Xavier would be a cold day in hell. What Charles doesn’t know though is Erik hasn’t really studied the scars in some time now, that's just the excuse he gives for staring.   
  
As always, Charles has only a few minor scrapes and bruises. A gash across his right side could be troublesome if infected, but otherwise the smaller man escaped this time relatively unscathed. Erik applies enough bandages to keep him from bleeding onto his clothes any further, and enough antibiotic to ward off disease. Charles is less worried about the wounds and more concerned as to what brings a creature like Raven to fidgeting nervously on his bed.  
  
“Okay, you guys done?” she lets out a huff, “Good. I think the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Literally. I’ve been hearing chatter, and it’s not good. At all.”   
  
Charles scoffs as Erik ties the bandage a bit too tight. “Well anything handbasket sized shouldn’t be too formidable a challenge.”  
  
“No, Charles you don’t understand. We’re talking angel sized handbaskets. No human size ones.”  
  
Erik’s giving her a leveled glare as he tidies up the med-kit, making sure everything is and in perfect order, ready at a moments notice. “You heard wrong, Raven. Angels do not exist. Until the day I see you turn into a unicorn, I don’t see the need to give this further thought.”  
  
“Hold up. Erik, who told you they don’t exist? I mean it’s been years, but word from the demon packs is that they’re breaking seals and angels are getting antsy,” Raven says as she glowers at the both of them. There are moments she just wants to slap the both of them. “Which that means, Lucy is coming home instead of Ricardo.”   
  
Erik glances over at Charles as he pulls the bloodied shirt back over his head, extremely confused, ‘Ricardo?’ he silently asks. Just another reference Erik did not understand, and probably never will.  
  
“Its an old show,” Charles accidentally says outloud, quickly stampeding on to move past it. “I take it by Lucy you do not mean the lovely actress.”  
  
Raven shoots a look at Erik, almost like she can’t believe he doesn’t know the simplest references. “Yeah, no. Word with the underworld is that Lucifer is going to be singing ‘Free at last’ if the Winchesters don’t get their asses in gear. But I don’t quite trust them not to break everything, so,” she trails off in the slight hope that Charles or Erik will pick up where she left.   
  
So that was it, Erik thought. Apocalypse, coming soon to a theater near you. How long would it take them to get through, break all of these “seals”, what ever the fuck those are? How many more days did he have left? How many more stitches from Charles? How many more cold drinks after a hard hunt? How many more long drives and bad jokes and worse food until Lucifer came upon them?   
  
“Erik?” Charles asked, tone worried, wearing his ‘We’re seriously fucked aren’t we’ face. Charles, who had given him a freedom they had barely tasted yet. Who had done everything to get them from Seb’s clutches. They are still working past the whole Erik being a murderous thing. Seb may be dead, but his damage was still living on, and Charles wants nothing more than to live to see the day where his body doesn’t cause Erik to cringe in horror. And now they're never going to get it, time is out. No, Erik is not about to believe it. Not yet.   
  
“Angels exist, fine. Let's summon one. If it doesn’t show, angels are bullshit. It shows up, point for Raven. Surely there’s some minor peon we can lasso down to tell us what the hell is going on.”  
  
She lets out a sigh, she knew it was coming to that. “Do I know you guys or do I know you guys? You’re like some 1970’s sitcom, laugh reel and everything,” she mutters fishing in her jacket. Raven pulls out a tiny but thick book from her jacket. She hesitates only a moment before she hands it over to Charles. Her eyes are on Erik though, “Don’t make me regret this.”   
  
“We promise not to pull a Winchester and burn the world down while we’re at it,” Erik huffs as Charles yanks his cellphone from his dusty pocket, amazed to find the military grade thing still intact after another round with the concrete earlier this evening.   
  
“Lets see if Hank is still awake.”


	2. On the road again, this time with some tunes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys decide to go find Hank, though the trip quickly becomes one of the kinds that end up in comedy movies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, another update so soon? Uh, yeah that's what happens when the Wife and I have not much to do between the two of us and end up writing most of the day. It probably won't happen again. 
> 
> But enjoy! We also take a little bit of liberties with the werewolf lore since.... SPN is a little stingy with their lore.

It takes about four rings before there is the sound of fumbling on the other side of the line. Charles hears the man curse a couple of times before the rough hello rings in his ear. Hank sounds as if he has been asleep, maybe curled on his dilapidated couch while watching reruns or researching.   
  
“Uh, do you guys need something?” Hank asks. He sounds jittery. Yet, he always sounds a little off when they call him out of the blue, like he expects them to tell him one day that they can’t handle it and they’re coming for him. He knows Hank would welcome them and that he would never fight. Hank isn’t a fighter. But Erik is.   
  
“We received an interesting booklet from Raven that apparently calls for an angel,” he tells the other man. Erik still scoffs while ignoring Raven’s hand gesture.   
  
“You said you’d test our your theory, no scoffing until then. Do you guys have anything to eat around here?” she asks as she heads for the only mini fridge in the place. Erik follows after her, for what reason Charles isn’t quite sure, but he’s too busy with Hank.   
  
“A booklet of Angels?” Hank squeaks like a mouse. “How did she get it? No, no, nevermind I don’t want to know. Are you guys coming this way then?” Charles thinks on it for a moment, whilst in the background Erik is demanding that Raven put that down because it is his. He thinks he should probably end the conversation with Hank quickly to make sure that the two of them do not destroy another motel.   
  
“Do you have room for us?” Charles asks. He wants to check the calendar to make sure they aren’t inconveniencing Hank too much, but he trusts Hank to let them know if they would be endangering their lives with staying with him.   
  
“Uh, yeah, I mean who else is going to stay with me?” Hank adds. Part of Charles wants to say that Hank is a very kind man and anyone would be lucky to stay with him, except they both know that’s a lie. Hank was a nice, a kind man that anyone would love to be with, before everything happened.   
  
“Right. Well maybe you found yourself a nice girlfriend?” Charles offers. Hank laughs and for a moment Charles is about to try to use some sort of pep talk for the man, when a crash behind him distracts him momentarily. He turns to see Erik and Raven struggling for a, he frowns,  beer ?  
  
“Uh, thanks Charles, but I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon, I mean I would have to go out to get a girlfriend,” Hank tells him, pulling him back to the conversation at hand. Charles shakes his head at the two. ‘Save me a beer’ he tells Erik. ‘On it’ is the only reply.   
  
“Right, right of course. We’ll be there tomorrow. Is that okay?” he asks. Hank is quiet for a few moments and Charles listens to him flipping through papers. Behind him Raven calls Erik an assortment of names that Charles doesn’t even know, much less Erik.   
  
“Raven will most likely be coming with us,” he warns.   
  
“Damn right I am! Oh, C’mon there are four more bottle last you greedy jerkass! Give me one!” she howls. Hank chuckles softly on the other end.   
  
“Right. I’ll make sure to have enough bedding this time.”   
  
“Don’t want another incident like two years ago,” Charles agrees. Hank laughs nervously in agreement.   
  
“Oh and bee tee dubs! I am not sleeping on any lumpy couches! Not gonna happen!” she calls out. Charles watches with slight amusement as she smacks Erik on the back of the head.   
  
“Careful of his stitches!” Charles snaps. “So, we’ll see you tomorrow. Do you need anything?” Hank is quiet once more for a few heartbeats.   
  
“N-no, I’m good I got groceries delivered not too long ago,” he replies. “See you tomorrow Charles.” He hangs up after that and Charles is left to stuff his cellphone back in his pocket.   
  
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Erik, just give her a drink. If everything is going to shit she might as well get to drink with us,” Charles huffs. Erik looks at him, eyes intense, before he drops the bottle onto Raven’s stomach. She lets out a grunt and happily pops the cap with an inhuman strength that Charles isn’t envious of. Though he doesn’t complain when Erik floats the bottle opener over with a smirk on his face. The bottle is handed over quickly after as well.   
  
“So, what did Hank say?” Erik asks.   
  
“Well, I think he was more interested in the fact that the book exists and that Raven managed to acquire it.” Charles admits.   
  
“Surprised?” Erik sends a look down at Raven as if that is almost proof enough that angels don’t exist.   
  
“I’m sorry are you questioning me again? I was under the impression that we had this settled that you’d shut your pie hole until it was time to prove it. During which I will be more than willing to put my money where my mouth is!”  
  
“Do you even have any money?” Charles asks. He doesn’t understand most of the time how Raven gets on in her life, but then again questioning brings up more bad feelings than not knowing. When working alongside they’re not-entirely-human allies, ignorance is bliss.   
  
“Not the point! The point is the ass you are attached to at the dick is still questioning my good intentions.” They both go red while Raven happily takes another swig of beer.      
  
Erik has to fight very hard to stem the parade of wicked thoughts to go along with Raven’s words. Of course Charles wouldn’t normally enter his mind without permission, however, there is a difference between poking his mental head in and witnessing the elder man’s mind project these ideas across the board like some pornographic theater.   
  
Charles on the other hand looks perfectly composed, if only a little flushed, but that could simply be the beer. He is not the largest of men, and thus his tolerance for alcohol, is, well, there is a reason Charles Xavier has never frequented bars that has nothing to do with his less than human heritage or penchant for smart-ass comments that tend to lead to a swift blow to the head. Those are just minor details.  
  
It isn’t long before the remaining long-necks are gone and the sky is just beginning to grow pale, the first signs of dawn just breaking in the filthy windows. Erik checks the weapons, including Charles’, before packing up the lot and piling into Erik’s 1966 Plymouth Barracuda. Charles has no idea why he was so prompted so purchase the gas guzzler. Erik informs him that first and foremost, as a free man, he will purchase any car he damn so chooses, and for another, older cars have much simpler motors, more reliable, easy to fix in a pinch. He goes onto explain that the car is made entirely of metal, unlike the piece-of-shit fiberglass models of their current day, and as such they will safe as houses in it wherever they go. Erik surmises that he could take a head on collision with a semi and keep them all in one piece. The one reason he doesn’t tell him, over half the reason for buying  this car, is that the brilliant shade of blue matches Charles eyes.   
  
The car ride are not the high points in their lives, even with Erik’s amazing abilities with metal, it still takes one thing: time. They usually don’t talk, not when it’s just the two of them. In the past they spoke enough, spending the hours with only their voices to distract from everything else. Except they’re not alone, and Raven takes well about as well to silence as she does not being able to drink beer. She also states plainly that she does not appreciate the crap they consider music and often times leans over the seats to play with the dial. All up until Erik smacks her hand for changing it from Charles’ preferred music to something else, even if in the end they both know he likes her choice better. Raven sticks out her tongue whenever he shoots her a look in the rearview mirror, and if he does it enough times she’ll mimic his voice.   
  
“Damn it, Erik that was an excellent song, but nooooo you have to change it because Charles!” she complains flapping her hands. One day, Erik promises himself he’ll tell her to just shut up about the whole him and Charles together angle she keeps harping on, but at least there is one person who thinks he’s with Charles even if it is a joking manner.   
  
“Raven, I don’t believe Erik is changing stations for my sake,” Charles offers up. She scoffs and rolls her eyes.   
  
“You don’t believe he’s changing channels for you, just like children don’t believe in the obvious monster in the closet because of their parents. So, that’s the flavor of our denial,” Raven retorts. Erik growls a little, and Raven just shoots him a smarmy smirk.   
  
“I was changing it because I was sick and tired of your 90’s synthesized dribble. It was annoying,” Erik replies.   
  
“Uh-huh. Well, then. Tomorrow we can drive around this town, and let the cops chase us around!” she sang slightly off key with a few moments of nearly screaming hey jealousy in Erik’s ear. The fact that the car didn’t swerve once was a testament to Erik’s control.   
  
“Raven, honestly,” Charles sighs. He looks at her like he’s some long suffering father, and Raven is pretty sure that’s a good description for him.   
  
“Not my fault, he can’t appreciate music.”   
  
“I appreciate, music. I just don’t appreciate that crap. It’s not real music,” Erik interjects.   
  
“All music is real music, you snob!” Raven smacks the back of his head. “Now.” She leans forward once more and plays with the dial once more, mostly ignoring how the metal for a few moments resists her twisting and turning. “Ah, good stuff here.” She hums along with some eighties band. Erik doesn’t change the channel and Raven just smiles at him. Charles relaxes into the silence, enjoying it up until Raven belts out Welcome to the Jungle with her own hand movements that he’s not quite sure what they mean exactly, but he’s gotten the gist of them.  
  
“We cannot get there fast enough,” Erik mutters. He would like nothing more than to burn the entire musical genre that is eighties metal to the ground and dance around the flames naked. He’d smear the ashes on him like fucking war paint, like its the remains of his victims. And he’d do it with Mr. Self Destruct blasting from his car, and nothing else.   
  
Charles picks up this image all too well, trained to pick up anything concerning “remains” and “victims” in Erik’s mind. It’s just a daydream, nothing more than that. But Erik is nothing if not volatile, and by volatile, he means a fucking molotov cocktail that could explode in your goddamn hand if you don’t watch it really fucking carefully. There is also the matter of Erik naked, and his own mental picture is too accurate for Charles’ own safety. He’s left to stare stoically out the window like he’s plotting the meaning of life and his place in it, when really he’s fighting the flush on his face and the desire creeping up his spine.   
  
Erik’s voice whispering in his mind like a lover's caress isn’t helping matters. He knows he’s trying for gentle when he whispers through his thoughts  Are you alright?,  but anything becomes sensual when it involves Erik in a state of undress, because fucking Christ, even with the scars, he’s still a fucking Adonis. Charles jokes sometimes that Erik’s hatred for Dean is based on competition, but lets face it, Erik Lehnsherr could give Dean Fuck Me Winchester a run for his money, if he ever actually spoke up.   
“I’m fine, Erik, thank you. I would feel a little better if you’d remember to use your words more,” he thumbs to Raven in the back seat.   
  
“Yes, Erik, use your words,” Raven teases. Erik shoots her a glare and she just laughs. Not even Erik’s scare tactics can bring the shapeshifter down.  
  
However, Raven eventually meets her match with endless flatlands of Montana, just a green carpet without a single fucking blip of interest, no hills, no trees. American deserts are more entertaining, at least they have cliffs and shit. Not here in the Great Plains, aka the Great Stretch of Emerald Fuck All. Charles’ alternative station of soft rock is playing, long forgotten by the sleeping woman in the back seat, who now seems to be bright blue with bright red slicked back hair.   
  
“That must be an interesting dream” Erik comments aloud to no one, as he turns to see Charles slumped over, head resting on the seat belt, mouth hanging slightly open in his rest, stray curls hanging down over his eyes here and there before they’re tossed back by the wind of travelling at 90 mph. He watches him as often as he can, and with the straight shot that the highway is, he doesn’t have to watch too carefully. Charles looks like nothing bad has ever brushed against him, and Erik treasures those moments. He wants to lean forward, to brush the stray curl away from Charles’ face. Instead he sighs, well, at least Erik remembered to talk this time. Speech is something the man has to constantly fight for, and with Charles ability, it’s often too easy to forget, to take it for granted. Pity, really, seeing as it was Charles who got him to speak in the first place.  
  
 _Every morning starts the same way. Erik wakes up on a military grade cot, meaning it does absolutely nothing for your comfort, and is more or less there as a thought, and idea that will never work, in a tiny cell just big enough to pace exactly five steps back and forth. Somehow, everytime, the other one is already awake. And everytime the words are exactly the same.  
  
“Hello again Erik. My name is Charles Xavier. I’m going to get us out of here. Nod if you understand me.”   
  
He has to show the boy-shaped animal exactly what the “nod” is before Erik can replicate the action.   
  
Years pass in this manner. And endless tirade of years, till neither of them really knows what age they are anymore. Erik still can’t speak, can’t or won’t, Charles never really knows. But eventually they get there. Eventually Erik learns to think, to plan. His thoughts often become as articulate as Charles, like a newborn babe mimicking the first thing he hears. But in the end the boys become men, or at least the idea of. Erik is still fractured, over a decade later, still more animal than man.  
  
But in the end, Charles keeps his promise. He kills Seb with a great big Bowie knife, an enchanted blade covered in more runes than Charles can count. Erik watches as the light flashes in his eyes one last time, and the body hits the floor. It would be a good time for a quippy one liner, but Erik doesn’t even know what quip means, and Charles is still in shock. The demon, their master, their creator, is the younger mans first. Seb only halfway succeeded, only of them is a monster.   
  
Erik remains a mute for some time after their freedom. It isn’t till many months later, when a hunter named Gordon makes them for what they are. Charles is badly hurt, gunshot wound in his good arm, limping on his dislocated knee as Erik carries him off. Gordons memories are wiped clear, but Charles explains that he’s told others, and theres no way to track them down and find them all.   
His first word is “Fuck”, mumbled, muttered, and finally shouted more times than either of them can count, followed by a litany of “Charles.” _  
  
“Erik?” Charles wakes him from his memories, blue eyes piercing him. Erik sends him a small smile. ‘I’m alright, Charles’ he tells him silently, forgetting his words once more. Charles clucks his tongue, but he doesn’t remind him. Raven wouldn’t exactly gain anything from their conversation anyways with her sleeping like the dead in their backseat. “How much further?” he asks wiggling upwards to get seated better.   
  
What Charles doesn’t say is that the memories awoke him, and that the constant utterance of his name from the memory bore deep into his mind as he was resting. He settles a little more on the seat and looks at Erik. “How much further?” he asks. Erik checks the mile marker and the time.   
  
“About an hour, maybe a little more. Do we need to stop?” he asks. Charles shakes his head.   
  
“No. I’m fine and Raven seems to be,” he pauses, “fine.” Charles looks over his shoulder at the still blue tinted woman. His eyes slightly wide at the sight. “Strange dreams she must be having,” he comments and Erik smiles. He wants to mention that he said the same thing earlier, but he refrains for some reason.   
  
Erik makes a noise in agreement, his eyes back firmly on the road as they drive through Glendive. His eyes are slowly getting heavier, but he only has an hour left of driving. He keeps his thoughts tightly to himself, and gives Charles a few glances making sure the other man isn’t catching any of his thoughts. Charles just smiles at him when he catches a glance. He also raises a brow in his direction, but Erik takes it more that Charles has no idea what’s going on in his mind.   
  
“You’re thinking quite hard,” Charles comments. Erik freezes for a moment. His muscles tightening and his breath hitching. Charles places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not reading  your mind. I can just tell.” When Erik doesn’t reply, Charles brushes against his mind gently, letting him know he wants to speak.   
  
‘I’m a little tired.’ Erik begrudgingly admits. Charles sighs, the air puffing his cheeks slightly and Erik tries hard not to think about how adorable Charles looks when he does things like that. He refocuses on the road and breathing.  
  
“When we get to Hank’s you’re taking a nap,” Charles tells him. His voice says that there will be no arguments, but his eyes ask him a dozen questions that Erik doesn’t want to answer. So he continues his focus on breathing and the metal around them. When he’s so fucking desperate on how not to notice Charles and his Charles-ness he focuses on the even breathing of Raven. In and out. Once more in and out. “Erik? Are you okay? Do we need to stop?” Charles asks, concern coloring his words.    
  
“I’m fine, Charles,” he stresses. Something in his chest flutters with anxiety and a tinge of warmth as Charles reaches over and wraps a hand around his shoulder.   
  
“You’re not tired? Because if you are, then we can pull over and I’ll drive,” Charles offers. But Erik’s stubborn, he shakes his head.   
  
“I’m fine,” he repeats. He hears Charles’ breath hitch for a moment, but then he hears the other man let it go and settle back on the passenger seat. The silence swells between them with a little bit of awkwardness drifting through as Charles shoots him glances the closer they get to Medora and Hank’s house. “How was your sleep?” Erik asks. He’s never been good with breaking the ice or silences, it’s something he usually leaves to Charles. Yet, Charles just stares at him, he can feel the eyes on him and he knows if he looks over at Charles, he’ll regret it.   
  
The car starts to vibrate, not violently but enough that Charles’ hand returns to his shoulder, and the radio flickers over to another station. The volume cranks blasting out some song he’s never heard. In the back seat Raven shoots up like a firework and her nails dig into the front seats.   
  
“What in the ever loving fuck is going on?” she demands. Charles ignores her, his attention fully on Erik.   
  
“I slept fine, Erik, I slept very well. Good question,” he soothes. He rubs a hand along Erik’s shoulders before he cups the back of his neck. “Good question. Shall we pull over?” Charles asks, but the car is already back to normal and all Raven has to do is lurch forward to turn the music down.   
  
“No seriously, why the hell was my wake up call the devil’s music?” she demands. Charles shoots her a look.   
  
“Erik, just got a little preoccupied.”   
  
“Please, tell me it was not with your mouth. I am cool with whatever you guys want to do, but I would like to be at least a room away from you when you do it.” They both look at her as if she is insane. “What? Road head, it happens!” Erik returns quickly to the road, though Raven is pretty sure that he could drive with his eyes closed. It’s Charles though who stares at her for a long time before he lets out a sigh.   
  
“I don’t even want to know what goes on in that head of yours, I really don’t,” he tells her. Raven just grins.   
  
“You had to look in my head to find out what road head is, didn’t you?” she prods.   
  
“Not answering that, Raven.” She lets out a laugh and claps her hands together like she’s won something. “Are we almost there?” he asks. Erik nods slowly as the road changes from Interstate 94 to Pacific Ave. Charles can feel the anticipation rise in the car as Raven realizes that they’re in town and also from Erik. There is part of Charles that wonders what Erik will do if Raven is right, if an angel descends and proves that there was a higher power that left them with Seb.   
  
He keeps his hand on the back of Erik’s neck, much to Raven’s enjoyment. “Remember you’re going to bed when we get to Hank’s,” he tells Erik. The other man tenses like he forgot about the arrangement.   
  
‘After the angel bit,’ Erik pushes, but Charles won’t have it. He shakes his head. ‘It won’t take long. I am sure Hank’s managed to gather anything we could need to summon some lower angel.’  
  
“Erik, no!” Charles bites out.   
  
“No, what? No, tackling people to the ground? No, fighting with Hank? No, deciding we should have an angel-cabob?” Raven asks. ‘Your words Erik. Use them.’ Charles orders. Erik takes his eyes off the road and glares at the other man. With Charles as the victim of the glare, Raven knows at least the argument won’t end in blood.   
  
“We do the angel thing  first ,” Erik snaps aloud.   
  
“Uh, yeah, that was what I thought was going to happen.”   
  
“Not helping Raven,” Charles growls. Raven blinks, and then blinks once more. She takes a moment before she blinks a couple more times.   
  
“Uh, okay. I didn’t realize this was a Chucktatorship.” Erik doesn’t chuckle, though he wants to. It’s more that the conversation is the type that ends with both of them feeling raw and itchy while aching to apologize, or at least that’s how Erik ends up feeling. Except Charles is completely silent. He doesn’t even move, and he stays that way for a good few moments before he turns his head to completely face Raven. It’s his face that does it. The complete calm, and even Raven knows to back down. She moves away from the front seats and presses her back against the leather, eyes wide.   
  
Yet, he says nothing. Charles just stares at her blue eyes hard and angry. Erik knows that stare, though he’s never had it turned on him, he saw it the second before Seb died, and whenever he sees it part of him remembers how Charles was directly after the said look. This time he’s the one who places a hand along Charles’ back and tries to send soothing words the other man’s way. Charles shudders and he turns back around, but as he does he shrugs away from Erik’s touch.   
  
“It seems I am outnumbered, so then sure. Fuck it. Let’s summon an angel,” he whispers lowly. Raven says nothing else to that and Erik doesn’t either. They let the silence take over again for the last ten minutes of the ride. The moment Erik stops the vehicle Charles is out like a shot across the lawn, equal parts pissed off to be kicked out of the decision making, of which he has been in charge of most of Erik’s life now, and trying to distance himself from Erik because fucking hell the way the elder man’s voice drops when he whispers, it shouldn’t even be legal.  
  
Charles hasn’t even reached the door when it opens, Hank appearing a little worse for the wear, but no more so than usual. His clothes are fairly wrinkled and showing other signs that he hasn’t slept or showered since they last spoke on the phone, abnormally bright eyes look sunken in, the bags beneath them as dark as bruises. He’s wary, looking from Charles to Erik as if unsure of who to comfort first. Charles may have been a psychic, but werewolves were full on empaths in many ways, smelling anger, fear, arousal, and a whole host of other emotions for miles. Hank looked torn between giving him a hug, or running back in the house with his tail tucked between his legs.   
  
Charles gives him a small smile, enough to comfort and relay the message that they won’t be killing anyone today, at least not Hank. The werewolf returns it with a smile in kind. “Evening Charles, did you have a safe trip?”  
  
Raven is there before he can open his mouth to respond. “Very, the car only shook once. No one died, and Erik didn’t blow up the radio,” she smirks, the bravado fading as Hank is giving her a very odd look. She frowns at him and looks him up and down like he has no reason to look at her weird. “What? Did someone draw on me?”  
  
“You’re still blue,” Erik explains, as if its a normal and completely obvious thing. The Badlands is a barren green wasteland, Hank is a very intelligent werewolf, and Raven the shapeshifter is somehow currently blue. Just another day in the life.  
  
“Why in the hell did no one let me know? We went through a whole fucking town,” Raven screeches. She returns to her previous features, before she shakes her head and returns to the somewhat blue form. “Whatever.”  
  
“So, how about those angels?” Erik asks.  
  
“Its difficult to say. With all the lore I’m lead to believe there should be the tiniest thread of truth weaved in somewhere, I’m sorry, but how are you...how did you  do that?” Hank is staring at Raven slack-jawed, like he’s just seen a faith healer actually fix someone, or other equally impossible things, like unicorns.   
  
“I’m very talented,” Raven replies with a wink. Behind her, Erik and Charles share a look. The one that speaks of how very not good a match up between Hank and Raven is. Hank flushes red and rubs the back of his neck.   
  
“R-right. Uh, so, uh,” he stumbles over his words. Erik steps forwards and digs the booklet out of Raven’s pocket, ignoring the scandalized looks she sends him.   
  
“This is the book. Go read it. We need to summon an angel from there,” he orders. Hank fumbles with the book a few seconds before he nods.   
  
“Right, right of course this way.”  
  
Raven struts into the house, giving Hank a looks that makes the werewolf figet and the hunters share look of ‘oh shit.’ Then the look goes on too long, and there’s that awkward moment of who the fuck goes in first. Erik gestures, “After you,” hoping his politness, and look, words!, will get him out of his promise of rest for now. Charles smiles politely, gives his thanks, and moves along.   
  
Really, Erik just did it for the stunning view of the posterior of one Charles Xavier in skin tight faded jeans. He wonders if he should inform him of the hole beginning to form along the right pocket...nah.   
  



	3. An Angel Of The Lord In A Room Full Of Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles come to a compromise. Sort of. And suddenly an angel!

Hank’s house is a mixture between well kept and looking like a mad scientist has blown up in his living room. Except if a person wanders closer to any of the decor, they will soon realize that Hank’s interests lead more in the direction of the occult. Charles walks in almost expecting to see Raven pinning Hank against the wall kissing him, almost in the way he wishes Erik would do with him. But Erik is broken and slowly putting pieces back together. He doesn’t need Charles foisting his feelings on top of all that.  
  
Instead of pressing Hank against a wall, Raven is leaning over one of the tables with her ass in the air as she pokes through books, and Hank, well, Charles can tell that Hank is desperately trying not to stare and is instead pouring over the books. Erik brings up the rear and once inside the main room he leans against the wall. He can feel Erik’s eyes on him, and there is a section of him, and it’s not small--much to his embarrassment--that wants to dive into Erik’s mind and see what is going on in those thoughts of his. He pulls away from that want and returns his attention to Hank.   
  
“Uh, it looks like maybe we could, possibly get Sainov, he’s a little lower on the totem pole,” Hank speaks up. “And the things needed to call him, well they aren’t too hard to find.” Charles nods slowly.  
  
“That’s good. Any opinions on if it will work?” he asks, he shutters a glance Erik’s way. The other man shrugs his shoulders. One angel summoning is as good as any other for Erik. It’ll either prove that all is right in the world or that angels do exist.   
  
“There is a slight probability, but I would have to research it further,” Hank admits. His eyes widen as Erik steps forward. “O-of course we can just go on and, um, test the theory already. I mean research or no, this book should lead to the answers we need.”  
  
“Well then, shall we get on with this? I mean since someone needs to get their rest afterwards,” Charles says pointedly. Erik shoots him a look that speaks volumes of how much he appreciates the comment.   
  
“Are you guys okay?” Hank asks quietly.  
  
“Don’t ask, they’re still in the midst of their lover’s spat. It’s best not to step in. Any comment will end up with World War whatever number we’re on in your living room,” Raven jumps in. She cocks her hip and sends him a wide grin.   
  
“What’s going on?” Hank asks, he shoves his glasses up along the bridge of his nose and stares into the golden eyes Raven wears. She brushes a finger against the tip of his nose and laughs.   
  
“Always the inquisitive one, Hank,” she whispers his name, but she pulls back slightly and points towards the other two men. “Charles wants Erik to sleep, and Erik wants to prove me wrong before naptime.”   
  
“Oh.” Is Hank’s only response like it makes any sort of sense, but he hasn’t tried to understand Erik and Charles since he met them. Instead he just nods his head and goes on with his day.   
  
“Are you ready yet?” Erik growls. Hank nearly jumps a foot in the air, all while Charles lets out a sharp “Erik!” in response.   
  
“Uh, yeah. I’ll be ready soon,” Hank promises. He nearly darts out of the room and into another portion of the house. Charles watches him leave with a little twitch of irritation burning right below his skin. He wants to grab Erik and make the other man listen to stop being so stubborn. But then again, it’s good that Erik is stubborn sometimes. Erik needs to know what he wants and to articulate it verbally, Charles reminds himself. He keeps reminding himself of this even as he itches to take Erik’s head between his hands and make the man look at him and talk to him. The secrets and the distance Erik is creating, makes Charles feel as if he is floating alone in space.   
  
Erik steps into his personal space and his face is twisting in worry. He hates to make Erik worry, it brings out a part of Erik that they try to overcome daily. Raising a hand up, he touches Erik’s shoulder--not his face, Charles keeps as far away from Erik’s face as he can. ‘Does me not sleeping bother you so much, Charles?’ the words caress his mind gently, and Charles wonders for a split second if Erik knows what he is really doing.   
  
‘I just want you to stop neglecting yourself, my friend,’ he says instead of everything else he wants to say. Erik nods his head slowly and somewhere in the background Raven is making fun of them.   
  
“If I could shapeshift my hand into another head and fake make out with it, I would,” she tells them.   
  
“That lonely, Raven?” Erik shoots back at her.   
  
Charles laughs under his breath, giving Erik an approving look that makes the elder man beam with pride. Raven rolls her golden eyes at the pair of them, and drolls “Hard to not to be with the pair of you making googley eyes at each other.”  
  
And yes, Erik not sleeping does often bother Charles a great deal. Sometimes he thinks he’s motherhening, and other times the memory of Erik never really sleeping, as true animals do not, but are in fact always half awake and aware of their surroundings in case of attack, is too painful to be ignored. Sometimes Charles even wonders if Erik is even more man than animal, or just a tiger playing human.  
  
He dislodges the thought like a djinn before it can grab hold.  
  
Erik senses it though, sees the discomfort and concern etched across his face before it clears into the perfect calm that is Charles' ‘hunter face’. The one that can either save your life or set you on fire if necessary. He speaks this time, and for Charles, it’s almost harder to bare than his thoughts, as the voice the leaves those damnedable lips is hoarse with exhaustion and barely a decibel above a whisper. “I will rest when it’s done,” he says carefully, articulating each syllable as Charles has taught him, and those color shifting grey eyes lock with his as he adds, “I promise.”  
  
Erik isn’t entirely sure what promise means, other than something he will kill or die to keep. So when Erik fucking Lehnsherr (so his papers said) promises you something, you should stop, take a breath, and photograph the moment in your damn mind, because you might not live to see it again. Charles does with a nod, and a word of thanks.  
  
“Yaaaay, we have all of that fixed and settled now. Go team,” Raven says dryly, pumping a fist loosely in the air. She looks in the direction Hank left in and calls out, “Are we ready yet? Because I would totally like to get this show on the fucking road, Hot Stuff.”   
  
“Uh, almost!” the young werewolf called out, anxiety raising the pitch of his voice, “We might have a slight problem.”  
  
Charles immediately marched in to see just what this problem was, Erik pushing off from the wall to follow, with Raven sauntering slowly behind.  
  
“What is it?” Erik snaps before Charles can get a word in. Hank’s eyes are wide and his heartbeat is moving too fast. Charles shoots Erik a look and a warning before turning back to Hank, a picture of calm, whispering soothing words in his mind.  
  
Hank is standing on the edge of a circle lined in salt and chalk, covered in symbols that neither of them have seen outside that little book. They’re not from Solomon, that’s for sure, but something far more powerful.  The mix of herbs on the brick of charcoal before him smell of something vaguely familiar, and Charles realizes its frankincense. Frankincense and myrrh. Cute.  
  
“I’m missing an ingredient. Holy oil.”  
  
“Is it important?” Raven asks, eyeing the ritual room with curiosity. Books line the shelves, some caked with dust, others worn from constant use. Jars of herbs are in disarray, shoved here and there between old tomes in what appears to be chaos, but is probably some maddening order to almost Dr. Hank McCoy, who was working on his PHD in Anthropology before he was attacked. Now his work is here, sifting through the text of ancient societies for things he once laughed about in the classroom. Sumerian werewolf legends become less funny when they’re pulling your insides on the outside. He’s more afraid now than he was then.  
  
“Only if we want to live to tell about this. Holy oil binds the angel to the circle, without it, there’s nothing to stop it from tearing us to pieces, and from what I’ve been reading, even a minor angel could be deadly.”  
  
“Unfortunately, it’s extremely rare. As in only rumored to exist. Like this little book, whose place of origin I’m questioning more and more every minute,” Hank says, looking over the rims of his glasses at Raven with suspicion.  
  
“If you want to know where I got it you just gotta ask, Sweetheart,” she purrs at him. “But remember that fact that you asked when it’s all over.”   
  
Erik leaves the room in deadly, exacting steps, as if every movement is being carefully calculated in that twisted mind of his. There’s the sound of the front door closing, and opening again only moments later. He returns with a leviathan of a shotgun, a very snazzy military grade weapon acquired from fuck knows where. Its big, its black, it looks like it costs more than the damn car.  
  
“Screw the oil.”  
  
Raven whistles lowly, “Daddy’s got his big gun out.”   
  
Charles gives him a leveled look, as if he’s chosen a rocket launcher to take out a vampire. If they owned a rocket launcher, it would probably be in Erik’s very large and powerful hands right now.  
  
“Are you sure that’s entirely necessary?”  
  
Erik looks at him as if he’s just questioned the necessity of rock salt.  
  
“You are standing in a room with a werewolf, a shapeshifter, and are one of two escaped demonic lab rats. Do you think an angel would be pleased to be summoned into a room full of monsters?”  
  
“Erik has got a point. A very loud dangerous point that could end up pissing off an angel even more. But hey, point none the less,” Raven adds with a shrug.   
  
Hank is looking from Charles to Erik like a child caught between two opposing  orders from his parents, small, timid, and unsure of who to listen to. His semi-wolfy eyes settle on Charles expectantly.  
  
“Oh, just get on with it,” he concedes with a sigh that says more than any words he could say, and can be summed up in one fucking word: resignation. “If an angel appears, we’re dead either way.”  
  
Armageddon. Right.  
  
Moving along then.  
  
Hank nods, taking a deep breath and exhaling, the calm relaxing center of mind that one often requires when summoning higher beings that may or may not try to kill you. The ritual is easy, but it’s not like any of them are witches and wizards. Hell, Hank has his laptop open to his right, translating the ritual in the book from Enochian to English just so he knows what the fuck he’s getting into. It’s a dubious website, but it appears accurate enough. Either way, there’s no time to second guess it.  
  
He skims over the pronunciation a final time, takes one more breath, because hell, it may be his last, before striking up a matching, and lighting the first of three white candles before him. The bickering trio fall silent, and the only sound is the click of Erik’s monster-destroyer syncing the ammo into place, the giant black weapon aimed and ready to fire at a second’s notice. Hank speaks the Enochian, lighting the last two candles, like it’s a command, “Zonrensg caosg merifri Sainov kures.” Another deep breath, and the end of the match lights the incense within the circle, igniting the charcoal brickette, and as the smoke begins to rise towards the ceiling, Hank gulps, and says the final word, “fetharsi.”  
  
There’s a brief pause of nothing, in which Raven opens her blue mouth to say something witty, but it snaps shut in fear when every light in the house goes out with an audible pop, like an EMP being dropped. But it’s not the sound of the lights, they realize in pain, but a pop in the ear canal as if the Great Plains have somehow risen to an area much farther above sea level.  
  
The lights flicker back on, and to everyone’s surprise, there is an indeed a figure in the circle, a young boy (almost old enough to be considered a man, if he has any say in it) with short unruly curly red hair and a beaklike nose, who can’t be any taller than Charles.  He does not have wings, or a halo, or a harp, or sandals for that matter. Instead of the expected white robe, the youngster is wearing jeans, sneakers, and a white hoodie with some strange urban design scrawled in black. Worried blue eyes study the room for a single tense moment in which Erik doesn’t know whether to order him about, or simply shoot him just to see what happens. But then those eyes land of the younger of the two hunters, and dart back to Lehnsherr bright with recognition, confused face breaking into a beaming smile.  
  
“Charles! Erik! You’re alive!”  
  
Erik blinks, thinks about lowering the gun, but doesn’t. Charles orders him to, and doesn’t realize he hasn’t said the order outloud. He lowers the hand cannon, and still not a word is spoken. Hank has removed his glasses in a dramatic fashion that must be some sort of recognition, as if his eyewear is somehow playing tricks on him. Raven picks up her blue jaw off the ground to speak.  
  
“Is that an Eminem hoodie?” The angels looks down at his outfit as if it changes whenever he appears.   
  
“Yeah, isn’t it sweet?” He wiggles a little. But like that the moment is shoved away and his face splits into a grin of elation. “Man, I can’t believe you guys are still alive. And you grew up so well. I mean wow.”   
  
“Wait, hold up, you know, what?” Raven tries to articulate, but she fails rather spectacularly and waves her blue hands in their direction.   
  
There is an angel with an Eminem hoodie, Raven is not talking, and Erik has lowered his fucking gun to a complete and total stranger.  
  
Clearly the end of days is nye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enochian translations, cause I'm a boss like that:  
> deliver= zonrensg
> 
> upon the earth= caosg
> 
> angel= merifri/murifri
> 
> Sainov (ahem, SEAN)
> 
> here= kures
> 
> visit us in peace= fetharsi
> 
> All typos are the product of Creep aka ChasingtheMuse. <3


	4. Will the Real Angel of the Lord Please Stand Up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little more explained. Life gets a little more painful, and talks are had between some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep telling you guys to expect us to slooooow our roll, but we're in a decently productive phase at the moment. Still don't expect us to update super frequently all the time. 
> 
> Also, we'd like to thank PangeaSplits for enabling us. You fabulous creature, and if you are lost on any bit of information we throw in there, if it doesn't pertain to the main plot (and thus spoil) we will be more than glad to answer it for you. 
> 
> I listened to "Skinny Love" by Birdy (or Bon Iver) when I wrote my parts. So, yes.

“So, it’s great to see you kids all grown up and shit, but what do you need?” the angel asks. He bounces on his feet. His glances stay mostly on Charles but every once in awhile he’ll look at Erik. His blue eyes get a little sad when he looks at the older hunter, but he still smiles and bounces none the less.    
  
“Eminem. Hoodie.” Raven squeaks out. The angel looks down once more and pulls the at the clothing, showing it all off.    
  
“Yeah? It’s my favorite, and you are blue. Humans aren’t blue,” he points out. Erik is pretty sure if Raven was not going through shock her replies would be better. Instead she keeps staring at him with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open.    
  
“Well, it appears that Raven is correct and that angels do indeed exist,” Hank states almost breathlessly. They are all quiet for a few moments just staring at the ginger angel, but then it’s Charles who steps forward and then Erik slowly after him.    
  
“Excuse me, but you know us?”   
  
“And you’re not trying to kill us?” Erik adds quietly. The angel looks taken aback, but then his face breaks into a wide beaming grin. There seem to be almost tears in his eyes and he just laughs.    
  
“He, he talks. Holy shit, you got him to talk!” The angel looks more like he wants to hug them both. “How? No, no never mind. I am just. Wow.” He runs a hand through his hair and just looks at them.    
  
Charles and Erik share a look, just one but it says a lot. The angel knows more about them than they would’ve expected. He looks at them like they’re his long lost friends. Erik raises the gun back up before Charles can say anything and fires a few rounds. He never blinks, he just fires, and then in the silence he asks with a broken voice, “Why did you leave us there to die?”    
  
“Why did you just blow a hole in my house?” Hank asks meekly. He is cowering behind his ingredients and staring at the angel who looks if not just a tiny bit shocked but no worse for the wear. Though his hoodie is utterly destroyed.    
  
“That was my favorite hoodie,” he says forlornly as he pokes a finger through one of the many holes created by the blast. Charles barely gets the gun from Erik before the other man is tempted to use it again, and Raven is just staring with her mouth open. “I-I didn’t want to leave you. I mean, I could only pick one.” The angel trails off. Charles stills. He looks from Erik to the angel.    
  
“Only pick one?” he parrots. The angel looks guilty, he also looks like he’s about to be forced to rip out his own guts.    
  
“Yeah, I think you guys are the type to want the full story,” he says.    
  
“Fuck yes we do. I’m sorry. You seem to know these two yay-whoos, but I’m Raven. And I would like to know what the hell is going on because what the fuck, seriously!” The angel takes a moment to look at all of them from Hank hinding to Erik who seems to ache for his gun back.    
  
“Right, okay,” he pauses.    
  
“Get on with it Sainov,” Raven stumbles over his name enough that the ginger angel lets out a laugh.    
  
“Uh, just call me Sean, it’ll save us all from you busting over my name.” The angel holds up a hand. “But, yeah, I kind of tried to save Charlie here from being Seb’s new playmate. It was hard and I got into a shit ton of trouble. I mean if I could’ve I would have saved you both, but Erik you were a fucking mess. I mean Charles had this light about him and there you were riddled with holes so wide it was hard to think you’d survive any longer. I am sorry, I just,” Sean takes a deep breath like he’s trying to get a hold of himself. “I didn’t think I could save you. So, I worked with what I could do with Charles.    
  
“He was up for adoption and I knew Seb was coming for him, and I got him adopted. I mean I wasn’t exactly standing in front of the people who wanted a baby, but I kind up put up HUGE signs in front of them. Plus you were a cute baby, so that helped. I thought everything was just jazzing, but then you turned twelve.” He looks at Charles and sighs, he rubs at the back of his neck. “And that’s when it all went to hell. I mean I wasn’t supposed to interfere ever again. I got told by my superior that it was a no go. But Charles, dude, I couldn’t stand by.    
  
“So, I forged a blade and dropped it. One of you could survive. I needed one of you little dudes to survive, and shit I didn’t know what happened after I dropped that knife. I mean I hoped a ton that you guys, that it all worked out. But my ass was canned for interfering again. I mean I’ve been grounded since I made that knife. Shit,” he pauses once more, “fuck, Erik, I am sorry I didn’t believe in you. I, I, I could just save one. Only one, and my best best was, well you know. Plus you were pretty unsavable. If I got you out, shit, you’d fuck things up really bad. You weren’t human at least not that I could tell, it was like looking at the past before you humans got educated and shit. You’d burn the world down, and I knew, I knew I was going to get into serious trouble for it, so I went with the best bet. But hey, at least you two are okay, and you’re alive.”   
  
“So how bad was he? Are we talking  Quest for Fire level or what?” Raven asks. Her words break into the feeling of the room. “Did he take poor unsuspecting women back to his cave to show how good of a mate he’d be? Erik did you have a cave? Oh, I can just imagine you, beating against your chest and hollering. Wait, that’s Tarzan isn’t it? Were you Tarzan, Erik?”    
  
“Raven, enough.”    
  
“No, I had a tiny cell where I didn’t get to leave unless I was ordered to attack my only friend for food.” They both speak at the same time, their voices overlapping. It isn’t enough to hide the horror of Erik’s words nor does it keep Sean from looking at the ground.    
  
“I did what I could,” Sean whispers. Erik rounds on him and opens his mouth, but then he closes it and breathes out raggedly. He storms out of the room away from the fucking angel who basically told him, told him the honest truth as much as much as it rips into him. Erik walks into the room he usually shares with Charles and stares at the wall. He wants to tear everything down, rip it to shreds. Charles touches his mind gently, before he too enters the room.    
  
“I told them you needed to compress after that.” He wants to tell Charles to get out and go away because he’s no better than he was before, he’s still the feral boy who nearly broke Charles’ arm that one time for a meal that hadn’t even been worth it. Erik steps away from Charles, anger at himself for being so, so unsalvageable tearing through him. “Erik, oh, Erik. It’s okay.” Charles cooes. He follows after Erik, though his movements slow. “You’re feeling rather emotional right now, and emotions have their place. Just think before you would’ve been destroying the room by the time I got here.” Erik looks at the room, he hasn’t touched anything yet. He almost says that to Charles to show him, look see I’m not, I’m not good enough, but he can’t open his mouth. So, he pours his feelings towards the other man.    
  
Charles gasps. His hands shake and he feels as if he’s been punched hard in the stomach, except the feeling is worse. He doesn’t verbalize, Erik is falling apart at the seams and for once it isn’t because he’s in trouble. Charles does the one thing he can think of, he wraps his arms around Erik’s thin waist and presses his face against his shoulder. “I’m here, Erik, I’ll always be here,” he whispers. Erik’s emotions just press against him again, but there’s a small part that Charles can feel that is relenting, that is willing to listen.    
  
They jump apart at the knock on the wood, and as Charles turns around he sees a rather pale Hank just hovering. The werewolf looks as if he’s stuck between wanting to run away and wanting to help. It’s a terrible place to be. Charles forces a small smile, though more for Hank’s sake than Erik’s. “Yes?”    
  
“Uh, the angel and Raven are, well, they’re hunting for something to eat, and they won’t listen to me. So, I was thinking,” Hank shrugs and just looks pleadingly. Charles sighs, it isn’t the most opportune moment, but he knows he has to deal with the angel, Erik is too much of a mess. He rubs Erik’s shoulders and looks up at the man.    
  
“You go rest up, just like you promised me and I’ll take care of this. Actually,” Charles halts for a moment. “I’m going to go into town and pick up things to repair your wall Hank. I am terribly sorry, and because she’s been utterly unhelpful I’ll make Raven come with me.” He looks to Hank as he says the last bit.    
  
Erik wants to argue, but he promised and he broke the wall, it’s more than enough that Charles doesn’t demand he himself fix it. Charles hugs him once more and gives him a look that says he expects him to follow his orders. Yet, as he passes Hank, the werewolf just gapes at them.   
  
“That’s not what I-okay yeah,” Hank responds. He looks back at Erik like he can tell it’s a bad idea, but what Charles wants, Charles ultimately gets.     
  
As it turns out Erik is very good at following orders, especially when they’re from Charles. Besides, its not like he trusts himself in a room with the angel who left him to die and a freaking werewolf. The last thing anyone needed was for Erik to prove Charles wrong in setting Hank off and having him ravage the town. Besides, Erik was in fact very tired, miserably, yes, but still tired. He lies down on the small bed on his side of the room, and is vaguely surprised when sleep instantly overtakes him.    
  
He dreams of the day Charles arrives. Seb takes him out to the ring, leaves for just a moment, and returns with this small, pale, thin-limbed thing. Erik has never seen another person outside of Seb since he was taken. It's a strange, peculiar thing, the thing with big blue eyes. Thats the first thing he notices. It’s what he stares into when he drives the knife home, sliding through his fragile body from stomach to spine. Erik eats, and licks the blood from his hands, the spoils of victory, and somehow, by some miracle, Charles survives. And he doesn’t hate him, doesn’t try to kill him. The smaller boy merely looks into his mind, and begins what will be their lives together for the next ten years.    
  
“ Hello again Erik. My name is Charles Xavier. I’m going to get us out of here. Nod if you understand me.”    
  
The boy who was kind enough to try, who looked at the monster and saw something else, potential, hope. The boy named Charles who was far too good for the monster that, was, and sometimes is, Erik I Will Kill You If You Touch A Hair On This Man’s Head Lehnsherr. The boy with the guardian angel. The boy who Heaven picked first.    
  
Fucking angels. Fucking angels actually fucking existed, which meant better watch out for those goddamn unicorns, they’ll gore you when you least expect it. But of course Erik  I Will Kill You In Many Violent And Excruciating Ways If You Touch A Hair On This Man’s Head Lehnsherr does not dream of unicorns, not happy little unicorns, or murderous fiend unicorns. No, he dreams of his new nightmare, the one that will haunt for the next fuck-all, till Arma-goddamn-motherfucking-geddon comes a’knockin. He dreams of hell, not just the Hell, but Erik’s true hell. To be left in the pit, to fire and demons and damnation, to endless torture of his everlasting soul for his crimes against humanity alone. To be left behind while Charles goes to the big fucking Disney World in the sky, where the lines don’t exist, and rides are always free. The last thing Erik sees before he wakes up are those great blue eyes, looking eternally happy, and yet eternally sad, for he can have it all, he can have peace, he can have salvation, but in the end, he must leave Erik behind.    
  
It is that feeling of isolation, and blind rage, that he wakes up to, in the empty room, knowing that Charles is nowhere to be found. The first thing he reaches is the first thing to die, thrown at the opposing wall with enough force to shatter into so many fucking shards he doesn’t know what the fuck it is when he looks at the wreckage when he climbs out of bed. Then he looks back at the nightstand. What's missing? Oh. Well. He hated that alarm clock anyway.   
  
Erik’s not sure how the next part happens, its all a blur, really. He doesn’t see red though, that part is bullshit, he just sees Sean burst through the door like there’s a fucking fire, all worry and “I’ll save you caveman!” until he actually  looks   at Erik, sees the hate in his eyes, and then there’s real fear on the angel’s face. Erik’s on him like its Charles and its old times, his knife is still under the pillow in the bed. That’s fixed easily enough, Erik simply throws the angel there, his head smashing into the solid wood frame with enough force to kill a normal human. He’s down just long enough for Erik to grab the knife and pin him there, blade pressing into the flesh of  his neck just enough to draw the first drop of blood, and the scent of that, the sight, it's a wonder Erik doesn’t finish the job. He restrains for him, for his keeper, for his...his...Charles.   
  
“I may not be worth saving,” he growls, barely a shred of humanity left, “but he is. So tell me how to do it. How do we save the world?”   
  


~*~

Raven fidgets in the passenger seat, she’s back to her pale skin and blonde hair, but she looks uncomfortable none the less. It’s mostly from the fact that she knows Charles is going to talk to her, that he’s going to tell her all the things that went wrong.    
  
“Raven, now, you know I’ve never minded what you are, and I think your, er, blue form is quite lovely, but perhaps we should tone it down a bit for our, ah, present company, hmm?” he asks, not looking up from the road before him, as its getting dark out once again and who knows what the hell could be out here these days.    
  
“Uh, okay then,” she looks at him hesitantly, she knows that can’t be all. “Where’s the other shoe?”    
  
“Well, I’m concerned about your little game with Hank. This is just a game, right?”   
  
“Game? Explain, Charles, how is this a game?” she asks. “Oh, God, you’re going to pull some fatherly bullshit on me about how he’s a werewolf? I’m a fucking shapeshifter I can handle it.”     
  
Charles has to bite back the groan of frustration, worrying his bottom lip a moment. He takes a deep breath, counting to ten, just like he always has with Erik.    
  
“They are not the same thing Raven. You can handle yourself, you choose when you shift. You can choose not to kill. Once a month Hank can’t make that distinction.”   
  
“Which means he deserves to be lonely? That you can decide who he and I date? You know what Charles fuck you. I am probably one of the few people who could stand having to lock up a guy I care about because it’s better that way. You obviously can’t.”   
  
“Its not the same thing Raven!” he’s close to shouting now, and he’s tried counting to a thousand but clearly from the car hitting close to a 100 and his fingers digging into the leather like its the last stable thing on earth, its not helping matters. “Flirting with Hank is like playing with a hand grenade with a loose pin.”   
  
“And flirting with Erik is more like playing with a suitcase nuke. I don’t see how that’s better, and you know what Charles? At least Hank acts more human like most of the time. Can’t say the same for Erik. I love the guy but he’s a fucking timebomb,” Raven is screaming. Her eyes are wild and she looks as if she’s halfway between lunging at Charles and opening the car door and rolling out.    
  
Charles doesn’t say anything for sometime, just slow breaths, in and out, just like he taught Erik. Erik, who gave him most of the scars that crisscross his body. Erik, who would shield him from a fucking suitcase nuke should they be unfortunate enough to come across one. Erik, who, at the end of the day, despite his flaws, despite his nature, could be trusted on one hundred million fucking percent, because he would never hurt Charles. Not if you put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.    
  
Raven watches him, she watches as he breaths as he doesn’t talk to her. She just watches as the calm slowly settles over him, but she says nothing. She’ll break it, she knows this, she doesn’t do delicate, unless it’s stealing delicately and then she’s a fucking ballerina on a goddamn tightrope.    
  
“I’m sorry Raven, of course, you’re a grown woman, and of course, you can handle yourself. I just don’t know if I can handle the apocalypse and a broken-hearted werewolf,” he tries to laugh, there’s not much happiness in it, but the effort is there.   
  
Raven smiles, at least she tries, if Charles can try then she can too. She reaches forward and pats his shoulder. “Did you think maybe I won’t break his heart? But you know. There’s only one person who knows every in and out of this apocalypse thing and he’s back with a timid werewolf and your psychotic, but fortunately unconscious, boyfriend.”    
  
He shakes his head, cursing while they finally roll into town, pulling the car to a slow stop in front of the one, quickly closing, hardware store.    
  
“I wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously. It’s hard to be objective and clear-headed when Erik’s world comes tumbling down,” He takes a deep breath, slow and long, inhale and exhale, before going on. “He thinks he’s going to hell, and I’m not,” and what Charles doesn’t say, is that honestly, now that he’s thinking about it, he has no idea what he’s going to come home to. They should be getting back very, very quickly.    
  
She listens, she honestly does but the closing sign worries her and she doesn’t want Hank to have to deal with a hole in his house for too long. So, she waves at one of the employees and calls to them saying they’ll only be a few moments. Then Charles’ words hit her like a freight train.    
  
“Shit,” she whispers. “I’ll allow this just once. You can think and say horrible things to me just this once. After that you are shit out of luck buddy.” She tells him.    
  
“I promise I will not protest the idea of you dating Hank again, unless he’s disemboweling you,” he adds, looking over at her with a humorous grin. The fact that disembowelment is Charles idea of a joke goes to the show the type of life his merry band of misfits leads.    
  
“Good, but the cashier is giving us the stink eye, so we better get the show on the road,” Raven laughs. She heads into the store and peers at all the items on display. There is one reason why she doesn’t send Charles back to Erik and that is mostly because she has no idea what to get to fix the house. She’s never had a house or a need to fix one. The boys don’t live in one place, only Hank does and she doesn’t see him often enough to know house things.    
  
Fortunately, Charles has known Hank long enough to have patched his house up a few times before, and has the list memorized quite thoroughly. He returns to the register with a cartful of items, some of which are obvious, and others which Raven has no name for. He pays for the lot with a credit card that is clearly not in his actual name and rushes out to let them close up shop for the evening just as the shadows are growing long. The trunk is so full of weapons that Charles is extremely grateful for the hatchback feature on the 66’ Cuda. He laughs when he remembers the last time they used it was to actually transport a rocket launcher.   
  
“Well, that was more or less painless. Never doing it again. Next time Erik is just going to be taken outside when he has his temper tantrum.”    
  
Charles laughs “I’ll be sure to take the bullets out next time,” and there’s a sad moment where he hopes there will be. A next time, that is.   
  


~*~

“Those fucking Winchesters,” Erik growls. He’s since calmed down, sitting across from Sean on the floor of the bedroom. Hanks since joined them, he’s sitting on the area of hardwood floor closest to the door, in case he needs to make a hasty retreat. He made the smart move of entering with a peace offering, long necks all around. They down them in silence, before one of them speaks again. Sean, this time.   
  
“I know, fucking Winchesters man.” They all nod in agreement. Sean is about halfway through explaining armageddon, but this much is clear, it all comes down to Dean Fuck Me Winchester and Sam Fuck Up Winchester. To which Erik has a simple solution.   
  
“And why can’t I kill them again?”   
  
“Because-” but before Sean can finish, the front door opens with a gentle creek. “Charles! Just in time!”   
  
Charles looks at everything with wide eyes. He sees the torn up room, something he was afraid of, but the fact that Erik is sitting on the floor with a beer in his hand and neither Hank nor Sean look that ruffled, he chalks it all to better than he thought. Still he turns to Erik and arches a brow.   
  
“And the reason you’re awake is why?” he asks. Erik looks down at the bottle in his hands, playing with the label a little.    
  
“Bad dreams, which is why the room is a mess,” Sean interrupts with a smile. “Guess he missed his sleeping buddy.” He says offhandedly. Raven’s jaw drops, but then she smiles. Like she’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in the world. Sean coughs. “Anyway, why don’t you bring him up to speed, Erik. Use your words,” he says the last bit like he actually knows the story behind it, but Charles can’t fathom Erik explaining that. Charles ignores the angel for the moment and gives a look at Raven.    
  
‘Hey I’m good and all with you and Erik, Mr. Pott. So take your nice smooth stones elsewhere, mmmkay?’ Raven shoots back mentally. She isn’t quite as good as Erik, but she’s good enough. Charles rolls his eyes.    
  
“Yes, please, bring me up to speed,” Charles agrees.    
  
Erik looks up at him expectantly, motioning to the space of floor between himself and Sean. Charles sits down cross-legged, while Raven occupies the space beside Hank, sitting down to lean against the headframe, knees drawn up her chest. There’s holes in her jeans across her knees, but the toes in her sandals are painted a brilliant blue. She and Charles look at Erik expectantly, and, suddenly sheepish, the man clears his throat to begin, like he’s seen on tv.    
  
“Lilith, Head Bitch In Charge of Hell, is running around trying to break a fuck ton of seals so she can release Lucifer. They have to be broken in a certain order, so it will take time, but unless something happens, Lucifer will release hell on earth.”   
  
“Okay we know that. I mean, we knew Lucy was coming home, but now we know a bitch named Lilith is in charge of everything going to shit. I am totally putting her on my list. No gifts from me. But why would anyone want hell on earth? I mean from what I know demons hate hell just as much as humans do I mean they escape all the damn time. No one likes hell. It’s like the no fun zone in kids places where there’s the one game that everyone hates, and the loser kid is the only one that goes there because it’s the only place they’ll get peace and quiet. I fucking hate that place.”    
  
“Because,” Sean interjected, “at the end of the day Lucifer is just a brat with a daddy complex. He just wants Daddy’s approval, Daddy’s attention, when the truth is God hasn’t been around for awhile. I don’t know what the deal is, I’m too lowley for such details, but don’t count on Morgan Freeman to show up and give us all magical powers anytime soon.” He then motions for Erik to go on, because damnit he’s just amazed to see him here and he’s fucking talking and if Erik could just keep talking maybe there’s hope for the rest of us yet.   
  
“Seb’s experiment has a bigger endgame than we thought,” Erik continues, his voice getting very grim with each passing syllable. “It was deemed a failure, until Azazel took the idea and reapplied it. Sleeper agents, given small doses of blood at their 6 month birthday, and not activated till adulthood. The sole survivor was chosen to be fattened up on a diet of demon blood, in hopes of creating a human vessel strong enough to contain Lucifer’s soul.” His eyes bore directly into Charles as he says this, letting the information sink in before his expression softens just long enough to reassure him. “Don’t worry, they’ve already chosen someone, we’re the castoffs. And that someone is Sam Fuck Up Winchester,” he spits, like the name alone leaves the taste of sulfur in his mouth. He washes it down with the remainder of his beer, giving the room a moment to let all of this stellar news soak in.   
  
Charles frowns up at him, a bit perturbed by the direction of this conversation. “Erik, I’m not sure I appreciate the name, Sam was chosen just like we were. There’s no fault in that.”   
  
Hank shakes his head in a rare moment of disagreement, “No, trust me, Charles, Sam’s earned in this time.”   
  
Sean nods in agreement, “True, true. Sam so-called Fuck Up Winchester has been aptly named such because he’s been led to gorge himself on demonic blood with his lover, Ruby.”    
  
“What the actual fuck? Ew, ew, ew! Who? I’m a, I am not normal and that’s even wrong to me,” Raven makes a gagging motion with one of her hands. “So, why don’t we off with his head then? I mean no vessel, no problem, right?”    
  
“Slight problem,”Sean continues, “as I was just about to explain to Erik before you guys got back. They’ve actually tried that, and about a dozen other things. Sam Fuck Up Winchester can’t be killed. A majority of the angels won’t let him,” he paused to kill of the last of beer before clarifying, “They,  not me , want the world to end. They’re tired of the lowly hoomans screwing up Daddy’s nice pretty planet.    
  
“So, how do we stop this fucking mess from becoming a bigger ball of that-ain’t-right? It’s a no go on killing Sam Fuck Up Winchester, what can we do?”    
  
“The only thing you guys can do is just try to stop the seals from breaking, and there might a weapon. I mean that’s what the rumor mill is chattering about, but no one knows where the hell that is. So, plot point B is let’s go find that weapon if Lucifer does show up,” Sean answers.    
  
“Well,” Raven says after a moment of what-the-fuck-now silence, stretching her arms over her head with a few audible pops, “We can’t figure out the seals till we know more about them, and we’re obviously not gonna find this weapon tonight, let’s say we find some dinner instead. I don’t know about you guys but I could eat a horse.”   
  
No one really speaks, the group of not-really-monsters and one misbehaving angel glancing at each other for some sort of confirmation, save for the ex-lab rats, who are locked in what normal people would believe to be a ridiculous staring contest, but they know to be a conversation only they can hear.  For once, it’s Hank who speaks up.   
  
“Yeah, come on guys, I could use a hand in the kitchen,” And werewolf, shape shifter, and angel back out of the room slowly and quietly, like they’re trying to inch away from a pair of hellhounds without rousing their attention. The hunters don’t even notice, not till the tumbler of the door knob clicks shut.   
  
“Charles, I,” Erik pleads, trying to find the words that will make up for the damage he’s caused this time, but it doesn’t come. The fear, the apocalypse, there’s no clock in the room and yet Erik can hear every second ticking away.   
  
“No, Erik, it’s my fault,” Charles answers, placing a hand gently on the older man’s very long and perhaps too lean leg, propped up while the other is stretched to take up much of the space their friends had required. His touch is like he’s trying to pet a tame grizzly bear, gentle, hesitant, but sure and stupid enough to risk the pain it could bring him.    
  
“I shouldn’t have left. I allowed your emotions to overwhelm me and I behaved irrationally,” He gives his leg a firm squeeze, and Erik takes this to mean he can respond, so he’s put his hand on top  it. The large digits  encompass the man’s smaller fingers very easily. And when he looks up at Charles, his eyes resemble what Charles imagined a kicked dog must look like. He feels like one of those large hands is wrapped around his heart, as if the look alone could make him bleed internally.   
  
“You left and I panicked. I dreamt that you left, and when I woke up, and you weren’t here, I panicked,” he sighs, and the look hardens into the disdain Charles is more accustomed to seeing, “like an idiot.”   
  
“You’re not an idiot Erik, you’re very bright and quick on your feet. You, we wouldn’t still be here if you were anything less. You are coming face to face with the fact that Heaven exists, and perhaps, we’re not wanted there.”   
  
The wounded puppy face is back with a vengeance, and it’s a wonder Charles doesn’t cry out in pain.   
“I’m not, you are.”   
  
“Given Sean’s position in things, I highly doubt that, and besides, I wouldn’t care if I were,” he puts his spare arm around Erik’s shoulders, pulling them closer together, brilliant blue eyes staring into neutral grey, because he wants Erik to see the truth of what he has to say, he needs him to know.  “I would choose you Erik, I always have, and I always will. I’m not going anywhere, Erik” Then he’s pushing himself to his feet, offering the taller man a hand up, “None of us are.”   
  
Erik looks slightly confused, but takes his hand anyway, allowing himself to be pulled into Charles waiting arms, “Oh? And how is that?”   
  
“Because Erik, we’re going to save the world. We beat one demon, we can beat another. We’ve barely tasted this freedom, We’ve barely,” his voice trails off, oblivious to the way his arms squeeze tight around Eriks broad upper back, “We’ve barely lived yet. I’m not going to let them take it away from us.”   
  
“But what if we can’t? What if it doesn’t work?”   
-   
Charles smiles bleakly up at him, desperate to give hope to this beaten man, but he’s not stupid, and there is little to hope for in the world anymore. But there is one thing Charles can do, the one thing he will kill for in his probably very short life.   
  
“Then whatever happens, we will face it together Erik. I want you at my side, through Heaven or Hell, apocalypse or not. I will always be here,” he says the last with his head on Erik’s shoulder, clutching him tightly again like they’re being pulled down a rampaging waterway, threatened to be wrenched apart at any moment. “Always.”   
  
Erik smiles back, and allows himself this much, to wrap his own limbs around the mans much smaller frame, careful not to break.   
  
“And I will see to it that you are.”


	5. Hell Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everything can stop because the fucking apocalypse is happening. 
> 
> Charles finds a case.
> 
> The reasons behind the cockblocking is explained.
> 
> And Sean is Slim Shady as least in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pips again, I want to thank everyone who reads this. (LC does too)
> 
> This chapter was a little difficult for LC and I. We were exhausted and running on fumes for most of it. We apologize for any typos though there shouldn't be much. 
> 
> We wrote parts of this chapter to "Demons" by Imagine Dragons. It's Erik's song.

Erik warps metal almost like it’s second nature, and as Sean watches him play with some of the loose change that had fallen into the couch he fights back the urge to coo. He’s already cooed, before his fingers wiggling a little bit and made all sorts of noises. The look Erik sent him back was more than enough that he just sits and watches as the man moves and twists the metal. It hovers above his fingers and dances around the air. Sean’s notices that Erik’s moods so far seem to be in direct correlation to what ever mood Charles seems to be in.    
  
The short man is humming, Sean notes, some sort of song that seems to relax Erik more and making his dancing coins all the more fluid. It amazes Sean at times to see Erik even breathing, much less using his gifts with some precision. Charles walks back over and places a hand on Erik’s shoulder before he too watches the metal show. Sean just smiles. He likes to think of them as his boys, despite him not having much to do with how Erik came about. Yet in the long run, helping Charles ended with Erik being relatively fine. Sean counts that as a small win, despite the guilt that pools in his chest. Or maybe it just in spite of it.    
  
“Why are they so fucking hard to find!” Raven bursts into the room, papers in her hands with Hank trailing after her like a worried puppy. His eyes flicker from the papers and then back to her like she’s about to pitch them during her fit. “I am looking for proof that these seals are being fucking broken and all I got are stupid things!” She tosses the papers, and Sean doesn’t contain his laughter as Hank dives for them. He looks back at the boys and both of them ignore the commotion in favor of looking at the newspaper in Charles’ hands. Erik’s lips move as his eyes traverse across the paper. Sean beams at the sight. The feral boy who would’ve destroyed every inch of the world without thinking was reading.    
  
He nearly claps, but if his soft cooing was bad he was pretty sure if he claps Erik will attack him again. Glancing down at his hoodie, holes and all, Sean thinks he doesn’t want to deal with another shot to the chest.    
  
“What are you two looking at?” Raven demands flopping next to Erik. She tucks her knees up to her chest, and to Sean’s astonishment Erik allows her in his personal space. He gives her a slight disgruntled look, but none the less he moves aside and allows her to look at what he has in his hands. Charles is still over Erik’s shoulder and they look as if they are the perfect trio. At first glance no one sees the cracks.    
  
“C-Can you give us any hints?” Hank asks Sean. He’s finally collected all of the papers. Sean looks up at him and grins.    
  
“Man, I’ve been grounded for a long time. I don’t know what their super secret evil ending the world plans are exactly. I just know they want it all to end because no one keeps that quiet,” Sean tells them. “And it’s up to the demons to break the seals. So yeah.” Hank doesn’t growl or threaten him, but Sean is pretty sure that’s an Erik thing and maybe a Charles thing if Charles gets pushed around enough.    
  
“So, we’re stuck,” Hank says with a sigh.    
  
“Well, as long as we are,” Charles pauses, he looks up from the paper with his eyes alight. “I think we might have a case. A strange one, but a case none the less.” Sean perks up. He has this dream of going on a hunt with hunters and seeing the real deal, and he wants that badly.    
  
“What is it?” Hank asks. He sounds a mixture between intrigued and wary.   
  
“Twenty-eight year old Jane Fox has died of a heart attack,” Charles says solemnly. Hank blinks and then looks confused.    
  
“She could’ve had a condition, Charles, a heart attack doesn’t mean something weird is going on.”   
  
“Are you sure that your activities didn’t get too rowdy last night?” Raven asks and sends them both a look. “Charles are you too tired and not thinking straight?”   
  
“The woman was at the peak of her health! And I have a feeling about this.” Charles interjects.    
  
“Right, he has feelings about this. Please tell me you looked more into it than just the obit because this is yawn.” Raven pats her mouth only to find herself on the ground once Erik shoves her off the couch. In the background, Sean laughs.    
  
“Of course he did,” Erik defends quietly.    
  
“Yes, of course I did. I may have commandeered your laptop for a moment or two, Hank, but it seems like it was more odd. For instance they said that she was anxious, she didn’t complain of anything of the norm. She wasn’t feeling ill or any of the symptoms that are usual for a woman suffering a heart attack. I think we should check it out!” Charles’ face flushes red as he speaks. Gazing up at the two men from her spot on the floor, she was not getting up because screw those two that’s why, Raven lets out a growl. “Of course in the morning after we rest,” he adds, shooting Erik a look.   
  
“Fine! Whatever. Yeah, you two go and have your sweet adventure that will probably lead to absolutely nothing.” Raven huffs. Erik and Charles share another glance.   
  
“I guess, do you guys need me to do anything?” Hank offers up, he looks resigned, he’ll help them because he’s Hank.    
  
“Just, research or something,” Erik growls. Charles pats him lightly on the shoulder and gives him a reproach for look, eyebrows and all. They both sit still eyes boring into each other.    
  
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. Not the eye sex again!” Raven covers her face and groans. The two men before her startle and Erik clamps up for a moment before he relaxes again.    
  
“No, Hank, why don’t you research and just try not to get anyone maimed or killed while we’re gone? I am sure we’ll call you if we need you too.” Charles taps Erik’s shoulder. “Right, Erik?” He prods. The taller man gives a sharp, short nod.    
  
“That works for me,” Hank agrees readily. Still on the ground, Raven looks up at him with a big wide smile.    
  
“You know. House is fixed, but I could still help you with the last bit.” It’s her wink that sends a flush of red along Hank’s cheek bones. The werewolf stammers and shifts his weight while looking wildly at the two hunters. There are no looks of help just, what do you want us to do?   
  
“I-I could hurt you. I mean I have absolutely no control when I change you could, you could die!” he stutters out. The shapeshifter rolls to her feet and places her hand on her hips. She stands nearly chest to chest with Hank and just looks at him for a few moments.    
  
“I can very well handle myself, Hank, you don’t have to worry about me.” Raven presses her fingers against his chest.    
  
“So, since you’re down a member, can I join?” Sean asks. He’s a little nervous as well, shifting in his seat and pulling at the ruined hoodie. “I mean, if you’re okay with it, of course, Erik.” Erik is quiet as he sits on the chair staring at the angel. The silence drags on, pulling tightly at the people in the room until Erik nods slowly.    
  
“I guess it would be better, if you come along with us. You seem rather indestructible,” he admits. Sean nods his head vigorously. Erik wonders if they will find out just how indestructible. It will be revealing, if nothing else.   
  
“Alright, it's settled then. We'll leave tomorrow morning. But for now, rest. And I do mean it this time.” Charles squeezes Erik’s shoulders as he speaks. If he’s being half-honest, he’s exhausted. If he were to actually tell the true, the whole damned gut-wrenching thing, it would be that after learning the fucking end is coming, there is nothing Charles wants more than to curl up in a warm bed with Erik by his side.    
  
Well, maybe one thing. He wants to press his lips against Erik’s and wrap his arms around the other man’s neck. He wants to press his body against the lithe one that is Erik’s, but he can’t because Erik needs to become  Erik before he can slip into anything with anyone else. Charles tells himself this over and over again even when he wants to grab Erik’s hands, the ones that were once bruised and bloody, and kiss them. So, even as he pulses with the wants to bring himself closer to Erik, he’ll hold himself back and just hold the man and push away the nightmares.    
  
He pulls Erik to his feet, leading the taller man to their bedroom, and Erik follows after almost like a puppy. They pull off their outer clothing quickly, tugging and pulling at the layers and Charles keeps his eyes firmly to himself, until he catches a glimpse of Erik’s flesh. There are scars on him as well. The ones from Seb and then the ones he gets whenever he gets incredibly protective. Charles wants to drag his fingers over the ridged flesh and press his lips against them in apology, the urge is so strong for a moment he nearly steps towards Erik. He shakes his head, he needs to stop. He already affects Erik so much it is almost terrifying, one more push and he controls the man entirely. It was something Seb always wanted, to control them completely.    
  
Erik gets in the bed first and looks up at him, his eyes asking questions, making sure he’s sure he wants to lay with him. With a shake of his head, Charles crawls in the bed and wraps his arms around Erik. The other man might be taller but he’s a slender thing, and Charles engulfs him the best he can. Where their flesh touches there is a feeling of a fire starting. Erik always tells him that he’s like a heater, Charles nestles closer, brushing his nose along Erik’s cheek as he does. Erik wraps himself around him, too, and for a few heartbeats they are holding each other. Legs in tangles of other legs, of the sheets. It’s almost like they are one person. Charles presses closer, just a slight bit more, he’ll tell Erik it’s only to help him for his dreams, and Erik will believe him. Yet as he places his head on Erik’s bare shoulder, he feels a slight pang of guilt, he’s taking from Erik when he needs to give to the other man. He whispers a soft apology into the air and Erik shifts.    
  
“Charles?” Erik sounds unsure. Charles strokes a hand through his hair.    
  
“It’s fine. Sleep,” he orders. Erik looks at him for a few moments before he closes his eyes. His hold doesn’t slacken until his breaths become even. Charles finds himself matching them and soon sleep pulls him under.    
  
The nightmares come, they always do twisting and warping. Dreams of their pasts, and what might be their future. Charles comforts Erik through it all, and in his odd way Erik returns the favor. His protectiveness and his strength sear through Charles as the dreams continue. Images twist and invert upon themselves. Seb becomes something worse his instruments even more terrifying. The blood is at first Charles’, as it always is with Erik, but soon it turns into Erik’s screams. His memories of time before Charles stab through the both of them. The emotions skyrocket to the point that Charles fears that their bond isn’t enough protection.    
  
The dream does not rip through them as badly as he knows it would, if Erik was left alone with his memories. Eventually, Erik reaches the next stage in the sleep cycle, that without dreams, without thought. Charles could stop now, he could withdraw, and choose not to follow his mind to deep rest. But that would involve not touching Erik Lehnsherr, and as these moments now have a number, a limit, an end, Charles fucking Xavier is going to make the most of them while he still has breath to do it.    
  
Charles awakens to the sound of the door barging open, which is definitely strange and not normal. He realizes why when he reaches for an alarm clock that isn’t there. Instead he is greeted by a sound far more shrill and higher in pitch, the squeal of an excited Raven. There’s a sound that could be clapping, and sharp smack that makes the man he’s wrapped around twitch and growl in warning.    
  
“Wake up, boys! The sun has risen and there’s an anxious angel on my ass about when you two usually wake up. Which let’s be honest none of us miss that hellacious thing, but seriously it’s already past the ass crack of dawn, you’re slacking.”    
  
Raven dances out of the room, closing the door behind her, small mercies in that.    
  
“Was that Raven?” Erik groans, voice hoarse from sleep and muffled by the pillow, and Charles forearm.    
  
“Mmhm,” is Charles only reply, burying closer. He does not want to get out of bed. If he gets up, its all true, the world is ending, and he has no earthly fucking clue how to stop it.   
  
“Was she...dancing?” Erik asks, allowing Charles to pull closer. Honestly, he could just never leave this bed and be perfectly content for the rest of presumably short life.    
  
“I think there was a skip,” Charles yawns, stretching from his fingers to his toes. Erik turns over, minding the tangle of their limbs, and the psychic can’t help but smile down at him, despite the confused look in the metalbenders eyes.   
  
“She smacked my ass, Charles.”   
  
Charles lets out a soft snort and rolls closer to Erik, he presses his face back against the other man and thinks ‘Mine’. Erik stills, his body going rigid and taunt. Before a tentative thought brushes by Charles.    
  
‘Always.’ Charles chokes, his fear rises. He cannot take that from Erik, he cannot own the other man. Charles can’t draw back fast enough. He’s nearly out of the bed before he realizes it. Pulling on his clothing with a breakneck speed and Erik is just staring at him blearily. There’s a slight look of pain in Erik’s tired eyes, and Charles wants to fix it. Hesitating a moment, he reminds himself that Erik needs to stand on his own, but he’ll let him know that he isn’t repulsed by him. He wants Erik as a friend.    
  
“Best go check on the house. Who knows what an angel will do,” he lies. Erik nods slowly, and Charles quickly takes the moment to leave the room and Erik’s shirtless form.    
  
Sean is in the living room happily munching on what looks like cereal and watching Hank flip through things while Raven leans against the couch. She’s watching him with a light in her eyes, when Erik fails to appear at his back her brows furrow. For the most part, Charles ignores her look and he keeps his attention far, far away from the door. Even when it opens, he only allots a glance towards the other man and a comforting smile. He’s not mad at Erik, but he’s rather pissed at himself.    
  
“When are we leaving?” Sean asks, bouncing up from the couch. He looks like he can’t be an angel, he looks too young, but he’ll fit into the college atmosphere easily.    
  
“Is, is that a new hoodie?” he asks. At her place by the couch Raven laughs. Even Hank had a tinge of amusement as he bustles through.    
  
“Yeah, had to get one after Erik blasted me a couple times. It’s cool, but it’s not the Real Slim Shady.” The new hoodie is a muted grey with the logo for something called Shady Records in distressed scrawl, and what must have been Eminem lyrics scrolling down the sleeves. The back even has a design, similar to tattoo art, that looks like fucking angel wings. It is decidedly far less cool than the first.    
  
Erik brushes by Charles without a single word, not even a glance, pushing past him to the front room where he proceeds to check the munitions one last time, packing supplies methodically, efficiently, and with a fair amount of noise. The younger man stares after him for a few moments, and when he turns back all eyes are on him like he’s kicked a baby seal.    
  
‘What in the ever loving fuck?’ Raven asks him silently, allowing him that privacy.   
  
Charles should probably say something before they start throwing things. It wouldn’t be the first time. Except, he’s shooting Raven a glare like she’s the source of the trouble, and instead of explaining the truth, he finds himself caught in a lie.   
  
‘Don’t touch him in the mornings Raven, he’s very moody when he’s first waking up.’   
  
Moody was an understatement.    
  
‘Nice cover, Charles, real aces there.’ She snorts back and rolls her eyes.    
  
For once, it’s Hank who is the first to speak, and he’s not glaring, because the day Hank glares at Charles will be the actual day the world is fucking ending. Till then, he just wears his usual look of confused concern that belays his general emotions of What The Fuck Did I Just Miss.   
  
“Is everything okay with Erik?” and he asks with a bit of fear because the moon is growing every damn day and the last thing anyone needs is a rampaging werewolf, and Hank does not want Erik to be the thing to set him off. Because Erik will kill him, and that will be that.    
  
“Its fine Hank, Raven just got a bit too close for Erik’s comfort,” though as Charles is saying this, Sean is giving him a look that clearly says he knows otherwise.    
  
Raven let out a affronted noise. “Oh really, Charles? Oh that’s how it’s going to go. Suck my left tit!” she snaps.    
  
"Thank you for your input Raven. Sean we leave in fifteen minutes,” and he quickly retreats to the kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee, and taking one, long breath. It takes everything Charles has to restrain himself from running into the next room, taking Erik in his arms, and promising that meant every damn word. But he can’t, he can’t let Seb win. Charles will be many things in this world, he’ll be a killer, he’ll be a hunter, but he will not be the instrument to strip away Erik’s free will. He will not allow it.    
  
He does not run, but walk in a slow, calm, and steady pace. Erik’s back is to the room, and that alone makes Charles breathe a little easier, it means, despite everything else, the man still feels comfortable, and safe, if only a might bit pissed the fuck off.    
  
More than a bit.   
  
“Is everything alright?” And fucking Charles you fuck idiot, he would smack his own face if he had a free hand. Erik turns around, mouth agape, at a loss for anything to say. Charles is holding out the spare cup of coffee like its a life preserver in violent seas, because clearly words are doing a damn thing for him.    
  
“Everything is in working order,” he replies coldly, taking the offering, but not at all happy about it. His fingers brush Charles as he takes grip of the ceramic mug, and the heat and anger from that momentary contact hit with the force of a punch to the jaw. He nods, and pretends it didn’t happen. Just like the bed this morning. Jesus fucking Christ on a crucifix.    
  
“Good. I’m going to grab a bite, did you want anything?”   
  
Erik is carefully not looking at him. Because he can’t. Not just because he’s angrier than a box full of ghouls, but for a whole host of reasons that have very little to do with rage and everything to do with the moment they shared in bed this morning.   
  
“No, thank you.”   
  
“Alright then,” and Charles leaves again without another word, cracking a few eggs into a skillet. He doesn’t know what Erik is so worried about. If any of them were going to hell, Charles was now ready to be first in line.    
  
Which seemed to be acknowledged by the universe in the form of a sharp smack alongside the back of his head whilst he’s standing over the stove. Only one person in the house is insane enough to be hitting him right now.   
  
“What is with you and the smacking this morning? Feeling particularly violent today?”   
  
“What’s with the hissy fit today, feeling particularly possessive?” Raven shoots back. She looks a little happy with her comment before she lets out a sigh. “Charles, you gotta stop this thing. You’re both kind of really, ridiculously fucking unhappy.”   
  
Charles exhales a tired sigh, chasing it with a large gulp of bitter coffee. He’s scrambling the eggs a bit more viciously than necessary.    
  
“And what thing should I be stopping, Raven?”   
  
“I thought that’d be obvious. You like him, he likes you. You rejecting him that way isn’t going to help. I just, you two, you need to be happy and you’re holding yourselves back like fucking idiots. And not only do I get front row seats to the fucking apocalypse but I also get to watch you fuckers dance around each other like morons,” she rants.    
  
“It is far more complicated than that Raven. Erik needs to learn what he wants for himself. If I tell him...He will love me only to make me happy, regardless of his own feelings on the matter. I won’t...I can’t own a person like that Raven, not Erik,” and he’s whispering this entire diatribe like he’s a covert spy trading nuclear launch codes, which, given Erik’s nature, isn’t far from the truth.   
  
“You. Are. Hopeless. Fine believe that Erik, you know, argh, I can’t, I’m going back to see Hank. You two have fun with your angel. I love you, keep safe, but God you two are morons!” She isn’t quiet, she lets him have it. Turning her heel she storms out of the room, the sounds of her stomps in her wake.    
  
Charles lets his head fall forward into the overhead cabinet with a resounding slam. He at least has the strength of mind to take the eggs off the burner and shove the matter into his mouth with a fork, sitting at the tiny kitchen table, looking, well, about ready for the world to open up and swallow him whole. Maybe that’s how the world will end.    
  
Wouldn’t that be nice. 

~*~

  
Charles pilots the car down the 89, headed southwest towards California, amazed to be given the keys from Erik without a moments argument. Sean is chattering away in the back seat, talking to no one and anyone about anything they’ll listen to. Charles doesn’t mind in the least, Sean doesn’t mess with the radio, which is currently playing another semi-popular indie rock song that the man knows by heart.    
  
He’s drumming softly on the steering wheel to the beat, though Erik knows he isn’t even aware he’s doing it. Just as he isn’t aware that Erik isn’t sleeping at all, hunched over in the passenger seat with his favorite aviators over his eyes. He likes the aviators, dark enough that no one can ever see his eyes, that Charles can never see his eyes on him.   
  
Erik Lehnsherr can sense the empty space in his mind that Charles often occupies, where he normally skims his psyche for any side of his animalistic tendencies, like an alarm system, to warn his keeper before something should happen. It feels like a physical gaping cavern, and he swears he can almost feel the hot breeze blowing right through it. Now he’s torn between staring at the man, sapphire eyes and candy apple red lips, and the endless landscape before him. And as beautiful as the first is, it also brings words to his mind, and endless tirade of questions that threaten to slip from his mouth at any moment. If Charles wanted to discuss it, he would have done so. But he didn’t, he ran from their bedroom faster than a wendigo.   
  
Of course Erik belongs to Charles. Isn’t that obvious? Charles is the one who taught him to read, and to write, to speak, to be patient, to be kind, but Erik will never make it on his own, not without Charles. He needs him, just like the car needs the battery to run, so what is the point in pretending otherwise? And what's the point in feeling guilty about it? Charles makes Erik laugh, he is the only one who can. Raven can get a smile once in a while, but only Charles understands him on that level.   
  
But he doesn’t understand the way that Erik feels, and he can’t fault the man for that, he doubts anyone can. The things in his mind that he holds away from the man’s prying psychic eyes are not how humans behave. He doesn’t know much, but that much he knew, not even animals did things like that. It’s madness. Women are with men, and vice versa. That is the way of it, he only needs to look at Hank and Raven to see the truth of that. No, the things Erik wants, the things he longs so desperately for (even if he can barely comprehend how  that works) can only be from that not-human part of him, longing to lay claim to the only person he has, and thus the only person that part of him would consider his mate. If Erik tells himself this enough, the feelings will go away, just like the anger did, just like the rage that Charles banished from his mind when they won their freedom, this too will pass.   
  
It is dark when Erik comes back to himself, having been not quite asleep, yet not entirely present either. Charles assumes he slept because the night before had been fitful, the nightmares in many ways worse than usual, and his presence had been less of a deterrence than it normally was too. But Erik always sleeps well in the car. It is entirely made of easily manipulated metal, it is fucking his, and it is one of the few places on the entire goddamned planet that Erik feels one hundred percent safe. He stretches like a cat waking up from its slumber, arms reaching up, curling just enough to avoid hitting the roof, arching his back as he stretches his legs as best one can in a vehicle. He realizes quickly why he is awake in the first place, the car has stopped. He shifts the aviators on top of his head, eyes adjusting to the slightly lighter darkness. Ah yes, another diner, another pit stop of life. But it’s better than the alternative. Charles and Erik will risk small-town mom-and-pop cuisine over a dollar menu any day.    
  
Sean is already out of the car bouncing on his feet, and Erik watches the angel. There are still moments when he wants to demand why the angel allowed Charles to be taken, and why it was allowed for a sweet innocent boy to be carved up like some sort of animal. Erik knows he is that animal, the one that needs to be chained and kept away from civilization, but Charles is the medium that allows him into the human world. Sean turns back to him, and the red head smiles.    
  
“There he arises!” The angel throws his hands upwards, almost as if it is a celebration. Charles gives way to a straining smile, Erik knows the show when it’s in front of him. The shorter man dips his voice low.    
  
“Do you want to sleep more?” he asks. Erik pulls back, not physically, but he pulls away and looks at Charles. He wants so badly to do something to mark Charles as his, and as the urge rises so does the disgust. He hates every moment that the darker side appears. Charles has taught him better than that. Erik looks away.    
  
“I’m more hungry than tired,” Erik admits. Charles slowly nods as if that was what he was expecting, but it’s Sean who pumps a fist in the air and twirls in a circle before crowing.    
  
“Awesome! I always imagined how that would be like. Eating dinner with people,” he explains. Erik looks at Charles and frowns. The expression he receives just begs him to cooperate, the word  please can be heard in his mind if he listens closely. Charles has been driving the better part of the day. He’s exhausted, and starving, and yes he finds Sean both confusing and fascinating, but that is no reason to fight him on every turn either.   
  
“Do angels need to eat?” Charles asks, attempting to keep his voice down as they claim one of many empty booths, passing around the menus in the tray by the wall.    
  
Sean shakes his head, surveying them with a small smile, like he’s watching a special about bunnies or something equally enrapturing and fucking adorable. Erik tries not to let it get to him. He’s not used to being watched and it makes him itch, like he’s being studied and noted and weighed and judged. Judged on whether or not he’ll go above or below. This is usually the point where Erik pushes up the sleeves of his shirt, if only for something to do, but they’re halfway through the plains and it is hot as hell and humid as fucking piss, so he’s wearing a black wife beater instead. One would think Erik Touch Charles And Lose A Fucking Hand Lehnsherr would have enough scars to think twice about this, but he doesn’t really get a lot of wounds, he is usually more or less causing them. The stitches strain a bit as his muscles tense, and he tries to keep them relaxed. Talking, talking is what he should be doing. He is well aware of how fucking scary he is when he’s quiet. Raven best described it as “The moment you know death is on your fucking door and you best be pissing yourself because maybe the smell will scare away the silent demon.”   
  
“Do you really have wings?” he asks, and the smile he gets from Charles makes the effort worth every damn syllable. Erik probably wouldn’t say a word if he didn’t have Charles voice to get in return, the way he laughs when Erik points out something particularly blunt that no one else has the balls to say.    
  
“Not that you can really see in this form. My true form has wings, but your eyes burn out of your head before you could see them. My voice also tends to break glass then too. Like it shatters shit.”   
  
“So, you do, but you don’t,” Erik says. Charles pats him on the back. Almost like he’s saying let it go. Sean just beams at them and nods his head.    
  
“I am, pretty much a mass of destruction towards humans in my actual form. Which is why I have a vessel,” Sean explains. Erik slides a look away from the angel, and just as he does his eyes lock onto the long pale neck of Charles, revealed by the dark blue v-neck shirt he’s wearing today. The other man swallows and Erik just wants to latch his mouth onto the flesh. Charles does it again, completely unconsciously, and Erik fights tooth and nail against every bit of urge that pulls him closer to that neck. The straw being placed to those red fucking lips that look as if he’s already ravaged them is almost the last thing he can handle, as Charles wraps his lips around the slender straw, his tongue comes out just a bit to slide along it before his lips take its place. Erik counts to ten, or maybe it’s seven, he can’t remember as Charles swallows down the liquid his throat working.    
  
Breath In. Breath Out. One. Two. Three. Four. Erik closes his eyes as Charles smiles around the damned thing, while Sean asks a question about their hunting. Blue eyes flicker his way and hold on, a question is behind them. Charles’ eyes slide away and land on another part him. Erik glances down and notices that he’s been rubbing his fingers along the silver knives. He draws back, hands in his lap, and Charles’ eyes follow. He doesn’t think, not really, as he pulls his silver dollar from his pocket. Grounding himself to the metal, he rubs the pad of his thumb over the grooves. He can feel Charles still watching, until Sean poses the question again. Erik settles his forearms along the table and continues his ministrations.    
  
Charles keeps talking, and his throat of course works while he does because how can it not. Erik rubs the coin harder digging the metal as much as he can into his flesh. For the moment neither man, though he doesn’t know if Sean can be seen as a man, pay too much attention to him. Charles is talking with his hands, telling about one of their very first hunts, the one where Erik used his still growing abilities too much and destroyed the house more than the poltergeist did. And, the angel just nods on his hands picking at the napkins. It only carries on for a few more moments until the waitress comes with their food.    
  
It’s those damn arms, Charles internally growls. His eyes keep flickinger over to the long and muscular limbs, especially as Erik continues to rub his version of a worry stone. The way the muscle ripples with every rotation of his thumb. Charles tries to count, but as he does he seems to follow more with the movements. It doesn’t help. He tries to push his focus back towards the curious angel. The very one with a knowing smile all over his youthful face.    
  
“So, what about your powers?” Sean pulls him away once more. Charles would send him a thankful smile, except the red head is still grinning at him like there is a great story being told. Erik shifts, and once more Charles’ eyes glide over his arms. Strong muscles uncovered leading down to biceps that shift and move as Erik quietly fidgets. His mouth goes very dry. Charles pulls his glass closer to him and takes in a mouthful of water before swallowing nervously.    
  
Sean’s smile widens.    
  
“Right. Well, we, we were rather unprepared for the full extent of what our powers could do. So, for a while we were stumbling around. Erik with destroying things and well I couldn’t keep people out. Eventually we went out into a field, Erik practiced with pop cans and I,” Charles pauses, his eyes go a little distant with memory before he shakes himself, “I practiced control with Erik.”    
  
“Oh, but Erik is one person,” Sean says slowly, and Charles knows exactly what he’s pointing towards. He hesitates.    
  
“Erik is the one person that I can anchor myself to. Without him, I don’t believe I would have any control. He keeps me steady,” he admits. Sean nods and for a moment Erik stops rubbing his coin.    
  
“And you keep him steady. You’re like two sides of the same coin. Wow, you both are pretty fucking amazing,” Sean says. He leans back, but Charles is looking at Erik and Erik is looking right back. There’s still things they need to work through, Charles knows that. But he gives Erik a real smile, and while Erik is slow to do the same he smiles too. Looking away, Charles knows he needs to get over Erik. It isn’t fair to the other man, and he wants more than Erik is able to give. He looks down at the salad before him and lets out breath of shaky air. At least he has a smile to go off on. Erik isn’t so angry that he’ll keep a distance. A distance that Charles isn’t sure he can handle. His fingers itch to bring Erik closer, but he abstains.    
  
“Well,” Charles starts. “I’m about done. How about you two?” Erik glances his way just for a moment before he cuts into his chicken fried steak. Charles deflates, just slightly. “Right, finish up then Erik.” Charles watches as Erik stabs through the meat with his knife and little too vigorously, and for his  friend’s sake he glances around the diner. It’s mostly empty and the few patrons inside take no notice of them. Sean’s face changes from its goofy smile to more of a one of worry. He flitters a glance to Charles before he turns back to Erik. “Erik,” Charles says softly.    
  
‘What? I’m just eating Charles. Do you have a problem with that too?’ Erik shoots back mentally. Charles flinches, just a little.    
  
“No, of course I don’t. But you might want to calm down a little. You’re bending metal,” Charles keeps his voice low. He watches as Erik glances down at what was once a knife and is now a toothed hook. Erik keeps staring at the twisted metal before he drops it. He pulls his hands away from the utensils. ‘Let’s just go now.’ Charles doesn’t remind him of his words instead he just grabs for the ticket and nods.    
  
They get back into the car, and it isn’t until they are all inside does Charles notice that Sean has the warped knife. The angel does not play with it, he only holds it in his hands and stares down at it before tucking it into his hoodie and out of sight. Confusion washes over Charles for a moment, and as he opens his mouth to ask the angel what he’s doing, Sean shakes his head vigorously. Don’t ask is what he mouths.    
  
Erik wants to punch something. He wants to just stop for a moment because he can’t get anything fucking right. It is one thing to lose control in front of Charles, another to do so in public, and a whole new level of fucked to lose his shit in front of an angel of the damned Lord. Jesus fucking Christ. Just sign him up for hell already, front row seats to Lucifer’s house of horrors to make your skin crawl off while you cry for the one thing you can never fucking have. Sean did the right thing, Erik thinks, he should have just saved one.    
  
Charles looks at him, eyes wide mouth hanging open. He looks like he’s been punched in the gut, and Erik knows, you can bet he fucking knows, that Charles heard almost every word of it. What he wants to do is scream to stay away from his mind, to get away from him, but he can’t because without Charles he won’t survive, and if there is anything he learned under Seb’s cruel hands as he was being formed, it was that he would survive at any cost. His eyes search out the scars that he knows are under Charles’ shirt. It used to be at any cost, but Erik knows there is one thing he’ll give up everything for.    
  
Charles grabs his face. He pulls him down and they press their foreheads against one another. He doesn’t say anything on either level that Erik can tell, but he can feel the emotions. Except he can’t sort through them, they are a jumble of things, until Charles speaks into his mind. ‘You, stupid, stupid man. You had an accident, you’re upset. Sean doesn’t give a damn that you did that. Sean is, I don’t know what he is. And you are allowed. You are more than allowed. You are a, you are my rock, so don’t you dare ever think you should. Erik. I- I need you to be  with me .’   
  
“We should get going,” Erik whispers, his voice sounds slightly cracked, but as he moves away from Charles, reluctantly, but they won’t get to Sacramento if they stay at the diner, there are no tears in his eyes. He reaches down and links his fingers through Charles’. “I know, I need you too, I always will,” he continues on. They stare on into each other’s eyes up until an unfortunate squeak sounds from the backseat. Eyes turn to the red headed angel, who just sits still eyes wide and face pale.   
  
“I was just getting comfortable, sorry,” he mumbles. “Your seats. You know, uh, leather kind of makes noises. So. Uh, not completely my fault.” Charles gives Erik’s hand one last squeeze before he settles more firmly into his seat.    
  
“Motel?” Charles asks.    
  
“No, I slept enough. Plus we have to check out your hunch.” Charles nods, he’ll let it go. Plus, they both know that he’ll be able to stay awake. And besides, paying for a motel room for two men is strange enough, three is just awkward. Erik turns on the car, and just closes his eyes for a minute to feel the vehicle come alive. He puts it into gear and then they are back on the blacktop roads.    
  
It takes thirty-seven minutes before Charles has fallen asleep. The deep breaths are usually soothing except for the fact that Sean decides he needs to talk. He leans against the front seats and starts to open his mouth.    
  
“So what does metal feel like?” he asks innocently. Erik doesn’t answer, well except he twists his wrist and the knob of the volume follows his motion. The music blasts, drowning out all of Sean’s words, and Charles just sleeps on undisturbed.    
  
For the most part, Erik drives on through the night and only the small flicker of his fingers when he changes stations really shows that he’s paying attention to anything except the road. Sean has already given up and is staring out the window humming along to any song that comes on, especially the ones he has no idea what they are. Erik would tell him to stop, but that involves talking. Instead he presses the pedal down further and instead of going twenty over the limit he’s twenty-five over. The sun has risen and he’s relaxing because there’s nothing that can touch him when he’s in his car.    
  
He’s in a quiet calm place that not even Sean can ruin with his wrong notes, when a black ‘67 Chevy Impala roars past him. His brows lower as he checks his speedometer. Still way over the speed limit. Erik turns his head, he has to see who these assholes are, who dares to think they can pass him. Except, when he turns his head, his blood turns to ice and all he can say is “Fuck.”    
  
The Fucking Winchesters pass him with only a cursory glance.    
So of course now is the time for the phone to fucking ring. And given the state of things, there is no way in fuck its anything good.   
  
“What?” he snaps into the stupid device, wondering how upset Charles would be if he threw the man’s phone at the hulking black metal in front of them. Surely, if its all for the cause.   
  
“Erik, it’s Hank,” there was a pause. Erik did not like pauses. Pauses with Hank meant he was going to say something that would probably end with this phone on the black top.   
  
“You’re not gonna like this.”   
  
Of course he wouldn’t because the motherfucking Winchesters had to appear in his life, their 67 Impala like a black dog, an omen for nothing fucking good. What good could possibly come of these chucklefucks?    
  
Absolutely none, of this Erik Touch My Charles And I Will Kill You Before You Can Take Another Breath Lehnsherr was certain. 


	6. Welcome To The Hotel California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case gets interesting. 
> 
> Erik and Charles are adorable. 
> 
> Sean does a jig.
> 
> And suddenly Winchesters...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The college used is an actual community college in Sacramento (yeah, we do our damn research, just like our boys)
> 
> The gun Erik uses is a tank of a thing based out of Canada, the Para Ordnance P14-45. He paints it jet black like any self-respecting hunter ought to do so his gun isnt seen for fifty freaking yards. It holds 14 rounds of .45, which can take off limbs if you know what you're doing, and use Glazer hollow points. Aw, yeah.
> 
> As always, I (your darling Creep) and my Wifey would like to thank all of your lovely readers for your generous comments. Remember! Every keyboard smash is another step closer...

Surprisingly enough, Charles shifts awake. His hand, dangerously close to Erik’s thigh, yet not quite touching, draws back slowly as the shorter man grunts. His first order of business is to twist the volume down to the point where it’s not even audible, before he pulls the cell phone away from Erik and his tendency to send forth magnetic charges. As he turns his eyes catch sight of the back end of a car that Erik is still boring holes into. Charles decides he’ll deal with Erik’s reaction towards the black vehicle momentarily, but first he needs to see exactly what is the matter.   
  
“Hank is everything alright?” he asks. On the other side of the line, Hank lets out a breath of semi relief.   
  
“Uh, no. But it’s, thanks for grabbing the phone. We have a giant, huge kind of problem. I found out where Raven got the book from.” Charles groans, he tilts his head back and groans.   
  
“Hank never ask. We never ask for a reason!” Charles reasons.   
  
“I think you might be glad I did ask. She got it from Bobby Freakin’ Singer!” Hank nearly shouts. Charles draws quiet. It takes him a few moments of breathing.   
  
“When you say Bobby Singer,” Charles trails off.   
  
“I mean trucker hat, surly attitude, best known for being the Winchester’s person. Yeah Bobby Singer.” Charles glances over at Erik, the name doesn’t deter the taller man from viciously glaring at the car in front of them. “I mean, I had to ask Charles! I could not find anything about angels or any percentage of the lore that was in that book, and obviously that book worked! So, then I thought if I could backtrack to the source, we might get more information.”  
  
“And she said Bobby Singer?”   
  
“No, she described Bobby Singer and then nodded when I asked if it was him,” Hank responds.   
  
“She stole from,” Charles pauses he glances over to Erik, who has finally drew his attention away from the Impala in front of them and is looking at him curiously. “Bobby Singer and lives to tell the tale.” Erik’s eyes go wide and his gaze snaps forward.   
  
“He won’t miss them!” Raven calls from the background. “He’s a fucking ancient text hoarder. It was all dusty and shit. It wasn’t even in the right section. Like he just shoved it there because it looked nice!”   
  
“Raven,” Charles sighs. “Hank give Raven the phone. I just. This will be easier if we’re not speaking between you.” He runs a hand down his face and Erik shoots him a look of worry.   
  
“I told you. He’s not going to miss it!” Raven huffs. “I was super careful, didn’t use my favorite face, and it is not like he was home.” Charles closes his eyes. He loves his friends, he loves them all, but sometimes he thinks he’d rather live in a forest, completely ignorant of everything, somewhere Erik could feel safe.   
  
“Raven, from what we know about Singer is that he is paranoid. He could have, he could have caught you on tape,” he worries. And if he caught her eyes on tape, he’d make her for what she is in a heartbeat.   
  
“Even if he did, I’m hard to track Charles. I don’t do the usual ‘let’s kill everyone and try to live off of those poor bastards money’ and shit. Or whatever my kind keep doing. They’re a bunch of sick fucks. I am safe at Hank’s house, and I’m not going back to Singer’s.” He isn’t sure if she’s trying to placate herself or him, but Charles allows himself to feel a little bit of the worry ease.   
  
“Good, just lay low. I, I don’t want anything to happen to you, or Hank,” Charles tells her.   
  
“I know. You still want to talk to the good doctor or are we good to go?” she asks.   
  
“Well, he called us, so does he need anything more to tell us?” There is silence on the other end before Raven chuckles.  
  
“Nah, he’s good. We’ll call you again if anything more comes up.”   
  
“Please do. Bye,” Charles says into the phone before disconnecting the call. He turns back to the rest of the car only to notice that Sean has made himself at home against the fronts seats and is looking at them with wide eyes. “We might have a situation.”   
  
“Figures. We might have a situation on both fronts.” Erik glances towards the car in front of them once more. “But, what did Hank have to say?”   
  
“Oh, just that our beloved shapeshifter borrowed the book from the one and only Bobby Singer.”   
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Oh? Erik, did you not hear? She stole from Bobby Singer. That man probably has her flashing eyes on some sort of television screen and trying to figure out why in the hell a shapeshifter would want a book!”   
  
“The Winchesters are in front of us.”   
  
“Erik, I don’t think-- What?” Charles looks at the car again, his eyes on the plate and his mouth hangs open as he stares at the trunk. His heart rams against his ribs as he thinks of all the poor luck they have, how could it end up with them running into the Winchesters. The world is big, Charles tells himself. There should be a way that they and the Fucking Winchesters would never meet. Ever.   
  
“Whoa, not good.” Sean murmurs in the back. “So are we scrapping the hunt? Or what?”   
  
“No,” Erik says. His grip tightens on the steering wheel. Charles shakes his head.   
  
“We don’t know if they’re going to the same place anyway. California is rather big.”  
  
“Plus, if it is a case, we can’t have these chucklefucks messing it up,” Erik adds. Charles sends him a look.   
  
“Erik. I thought we decided it was best if we stayed away from them.” Erik gives a deadly smile, he tilts his head towards Charles and then a glance towards Sean.   
  
“If they creep in on our case, then it’s their fault.” He revs the engine and shoots past the Impala. Allowing Charles to gaze of the faces he has learned to fear for not only himself but Erik as well. He turns away and keeps his eyes on the horizon as they barrel down along the blacktop. He doesn’t know what speed Erik is at, but he doesn’t even want to look at the speedometer because he knows it’s most likely one that normal people would not even contemplate.  
  
Every part in the engine of their beloved car sings to Erik, he’s in tuned to every damn piece down to the fucking spark plugs. He doesn’t need the speedometer, if the engine needs him to let up, it will let him know. He may not be social, he may not be nice, and sometimes reading is tricky (because English is just the biggest what the fuck in entire creation, rules what fucking rules?), but what Erik Lehnsherr can do, he does with exacting perfection very few can match. Charles just sits back, allowing his eyes to move over Erik’s form for a few moments before he looks away. At the corner of his eyes he notices that in the back Sean is doing the same, but the angel seems more contemplative.   
  
It doesn’t take them long before they reach the city. It’s nice, but Charles has a strong distaste for large populations. He slides over and brushes a hand along Erik’s, anchoring himself more to the taller man, and Erik links their fingers once more, his thumb brushes along Charles’ hand. In the backseat, Sean has a resolved expression before he catches sight of all the buildings. For a moment, Charles thinks that maybe the angel will go off on his own and play about the humans, but then he catches Sean’s eyes in the rearview mirror and he knows that won’t be the case.   
  
“Motel?” he asks. He wants one closer to the edges of the city, further away from all the hustle and bustle. Erik nods slowly. Erik navigates through most of the city, keeping to the edges, but still heading towards the area Hank had circled for them in the map. Charles knows the method, hell he has explained the method to Raven after she has complained one too many times about where they choose to bed down at night.   
  
After two hours of being in the car in the city, Erik finally picks a place. It isn’t ritzy, but they never are. He takes a quick survey of the parking lot and notes that there isn’t an abundance of cars. Not too many people to be around. Charles turns to look at Erik and they both agree it’s the best. Not too far from the case, but not too close either.  
  
Erik grabs his duffle, and Charles does the same. While Charles isn’t looking, he makes Sean carry the third one, the one with the weapons inside. The angel happily obliges lifting the bag onto his shoulder. Charles leads the way to the front desk where a young man with a blue streak through his hair and a pierced lip greets them happily. His eyes slide along Erik’s trim body and the taller man sends a glare, eyes narrowed and lips set in a firm line. The man shifts his gaze to Charles before a couple of glances Erik’s way.   
  
“Can we get a room with two queens and a cot?” Charles asks. He puts on his kindest smile and Erik’s glare deepens as the man’s eyes light up.   
  
“Yeah, of course. Uh, could I get your card?” The man looks Charles up and down before giving him a small wink. The transaction goes on with the man trying to pick Charles up, and all while Charles acts oblivious to it all, but Erik can see the flush on his cheeks. So, Erik bids his time. He waits until Charles wiggles the keys in his face and then leads Sean out. The angel just keeps looking at him with a smile on his face. He waits until Charles is at a decent distance and then he pulls. Screams never sounded so gratifying.   
  
The moment he’s back at Charles’ side, he ignores the questioning look, he also ignores the feeling as Charles flipping through some of his thoughts, not too deeply though, before Charles gives him a punch, wary of his stitches.  
  
“Erik!” he hisses. “Now I have to -- just get in the room. Sean make sure he doesn’t do any more damage. I have to fix something!” Charles shoves his things into Erik’s arms before he storms back down to the front desk. It’s not until Charles is inside the office that Erik lets himself relish that for a moment Charles had been in his mind. He smiles a little softly, and Sean just shakes his head.   
  
“What?” he asks. “You know you were thinking the same thing.”  
  
“Oh, no, that is where you are wrong. I was not thinking of ripping a man’s lip ring out of his lip via your powers. I was thinking if they had breakfast and if it would be good or not. You humans like your food and I like to look at it. And, next time, Erik, just put your arm around Charles’ shoulder. Less violence. Oh! And glare, that’d help, or smile in your case.” Erik smiles white and with all sorts of teeth. Sean winces slightly. “Exactly like that. So, like next time some guy or gal decides to hit on Charles, just do what I told you, and there won’t be much that Charles will be unhappy about.”  
  
Erik opens his mouth to ask about the guy. Most of him knows that asking Charles about men liking men is the worst thing he can do, it’ll show Charles he isn’t better at all, not that he has to do much to make Charles think that, but he closes his mouth. He can’t bring in Sean, he doesn’t trust the angel yet. What he will do is follow the man’s suggestions, but beyond that he’ll keep his feral parts to himself.   
  
“I hope you’re happy!” Charles huffs. Erik glances down at his feet for a few moments before he unlocks the door, via powers, and tosses their things on the bed.   
  
“I’ll be happier when we prove Raven wrong and that there is a case,” Erik offers clumsily. Charles tilts his head.   
  
“Hey, I think what Erik did was a vast improvement, that piercing did not go with that guys face. He needed like a brow piercing or something. Plus tis the nature of a man, like Erik. You know protecting what’s his. Saw that shit on some documentary!”  
  
“I believe you were watching Animal Planet, Sean,” Charles tells him, but there’s a twitch at the edges of his lips.   
  
“Same difference, man,” Sean replies. His unassuming smile is what breaks with Charles and he nods.   
  
“Alright, we should get started on this case. We have to first prove that it is even our type of case and then we have to figure it out, we’re already behind the eight ball,” Charles says. He claps his hands together.   
  
“I am surprised you guys know that saying,” Sean comments. Erik gives him a look.   
  
“Shouldn’t you be the one we’re shocked knows things?” he asks. Sean laughs.   
  
“Dude I showed up in an Eminem hoodie. I’m fucking cool. So, we ready to go, or what?” he asks. The two men look at each other, just like they always do. Eyes for only each other, and Sean just smiles tiredly. Charles then pulls some things out and they nod to each other. He hands Erik a dry cleaner bag with his name on it, and immediately pulls off his black tank in exchange for a white undershirt, all crisp edges and clean lines. Sean turns around to give them some privacy, and tries not to notice the way Charles eyes linger on Erik’s half-naked form, before withdrawing a slightly smaller bag and following suit, literally. When Sean dares to turn around again the two men are wearing matching black suits with plain black ties. Charles is tying Erik’s tie, fussing over it being perfectly even and straight. He brushes imaginary lint from his shoulders, smiling up at him. Charles smile is adorable and kind, something like a tame house cat’s approval. Erik’s looks more like a lion deciding yes, you would be very good for dinner. He passes out today’s identification, and a hotel key, and they are off.  
  
Neither one comments as Sean trails after, and they all pile back into the car. Erik drives once more and Charles doesn’t fight him. He doesn’t even give the other man a look. Instead, Sean just settles back and watches. The men are both a well oiled machine as they move. There are some hiccups, but when they need to be on the ball they are. Sean admires the both of them, but it’s the Winchesters he’s worried about. The word on the grapevine is that they’re volatile with each other, and with their word. There will also be an angel on their shoulders, Sean knows this, but he doesn’t know who got set up with the babysitting duty though.   
  
Charles lists closer to Erik, and Sean just shakes his head. After all the comments and after everyone notices what they are to each other, they both act blind. At a redlight, Erik even turns to the other man and plays with the strands of brown hair that curl around the shorter man’s ear. Sean almost throws his hands up. He doesn’t get a word in as they travel to the morgue, despite the fact that the two men are basically sharing the same spot as they sit in the front.   
  
Erik parks and Sean watches as once more Charles glances around the parking lot. He too glances, he can’t tell if Charles is looking for the Impala or if that’s just the thing they do seeing where all the normal people are in their vicinity. Charles checks Erik’s tie again, his hands wrapping around the black fabric before they share a smile. Sean just rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the grin that appears on his face either. Charles glances over at him and looks worried for a few moments.   
  
“Oh, I think you’ll have to sit this one out Sean. Just wait by the car?” he says as he looks over Sean’s lack of suit. He looks down as well.   
  
“Oh, right. I’ll just. Be out by the doors, or something.” Erik turns, caps Sean on the shoulder before giving a squeeze.   
  
“Make sure the people don’t touch my baby. Okay?” he orders softly. He pats the hood of the car and then they’re both off leaving Sean with Erik’s baby. Except for the fact that Sean does a small little dance at the fact that Erik left him with something that was important. By the rate he was going Sean would be left alone with Raven in twenty years.  
  
Erik opens the door for Charles and as he does he glances over his partner’s shoulder at the angel who is still doing some sort of jig.   
  
“You think?” he starts.  
  
“Your baby will be fine, Erik.” Charles pats him on the cheek. Slipping into the building, they go through motions until they’re at the coroners and staring down at a draped body. The coroner is a pudgy man with a receding hairline, but he’s nice enough and doesn’t glare at them as they ask to see Jane’s body. Instead he bobs his head and waddles over to where the body is kept.   
  
“What did you say your names were again? I’m sorry, just terrible with names,” the coroner says.   
  
The men simultaneously draw their badges, flipping them open with the fluidity of a long time of practice. Erik has the perfect emotionless expression most grow to expect from a federal agent, Charles is slightly warmer, and of course it is the smaller man that speaks.  
  
“Agent Thomas, this is my partner Agent Lefroy,” Erik simply gives a small smile and nods, gesturing to the body as the two shove their IDs back into their coats. “What’s the situation?”  
  
“Not much of one. She died of a heart attack. It’s all in the file, but from what I can tell she just had a bad heart,” the man replies.   
  
“Did Ms. Fox have a history of heart problems?” Charles asks. The man furrows his brow and he pulls out a file.   
  
“No, actually she was pretty active, but I didn’t open her up.”   
  
“Why not?” Erik asks, his voice is harsh and Charles glances his way the curve of his lips enough warning.   
  
“It was a routine death. D-Do you need to me open her up?” the man asks.   
  
“Yes, please that would be preferred. Her reaction before her death has lead to some questions,” Charles explains. The man stares his mouth open for a little while before he lets out a low sigh.   
  
“Alright, let me just. Let’s do this.”  
  
The doc throws on a pair of blue nitrile gloves before making the customary incision from neck to navel. Movies make an autopsy look nice and neat, like you’re unwrapping a present of human flesh, but its not. The neat stops at that first incision. The next goes across the waist, making a neat cross for the man to pull back the skin, and the next tool looks like a nutcracker and the largest pair of pliers in history had a bastard child together. This thing cuts through the rib cage like he’s breaking apart crab legs for dinner, and it’s not neat at all. Erik and Charles keep their distance as a bone shard arcs past them before the coroner is looking up at them, spleen juice on his goggles, his expression no longer bored, but genuinely shocked.   
  
“There’s nothing here.”  
  
“What do you mean nothing?” Erik asks. He leans forward slightly.   
  
“There is no heart. It’s like, it’s like it just burst.”   
  
“And I assume that isn’t normal for heart attacks,” Erik says dryly. The coroner looks at him with wide eyes.   
  
“Not really even in the stratosphere of normal.”    
  
Erik and Charles exchange a look that even the coroner can see to mean that they are in fact onto something. The Charles thanks the doctor for his time and patience, and leaves with the Erik at his back, using that brilliant mind of his to find his way to the lead detectives office with ease. He has no trouble at all wrestling the files from the man, despite the scrutiny of his not-at-all-routine verification of their badges. Charles does not manipulate the man’s mind, rather he skims the surface for all of the questions and annoyances on his mind, like a map through troublesome waters. He even makes the man smile. Charles doesn’t think it’s wrong, in fact he’s improved the man’s mood impressively so, and fights to keep a stern line for a mouth, like Erik does at most times, plastered without movement onto his face until they are outside again in the blistering summer heat. Sean, leaning against the car with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, doesn’t seem to mind it in the least. He waves at them and bounces on the balls of his feet as they walk nearer.   
  
“So?” he asks, his voice in a low whisper as he looks around. Erik rolls his eyes, but Charles just smiles on.   
  
“Let’s discuss this in the car,” Charles suggests. He motions forward and Sean all but jumps into the back seat. Erik looks at him, asking him silently, without actually asking him silently amazingly enough, what they’re getting into. Charles just shrugs his shoulders upwards and shakes his head. He sits in the driver’s seat much to Erik’s minute irritation, and the metal wielder hands over the keys reluctantly.   
  
“So?” Sean asks again.   
  
“The heart exploded.”   
  
“Werewolves like their hearts, but there was no actual trauma caused outside the body, just internal,” Erik adds. Charles nods.   
  
“Correct. Which is why I suggest witchcraft. Look at where the woman worked. It’s more than likely that she pissed someone off, and now she paid the price,” Charles theorizes. Erik is quiet for a little while.   
  
“Her apartment, though didn’t she die at her office?” Erik asks. He tries to remember the obituary.   
  
“She did die in her office, but still it would be best to check for the hex bags in her apartment as well. Though before that we need to set up some protective things of our own, wouldn’t want a witch on our trail and decide that we’ve gotten too close.” Erik nods in agreement. Sean just watches in with avid attention on where the conversation flows. Charles drives back through the city and he keeps his eyes peeled for any sight of the Winchester’s, he knows that Erik is already familiar with the feel of their car. Which raises a small question, why didn’t Erik mess with their vehicle. Charles knows why they shouldn’t, he is completely against even running into the Winchesters, but he also knows Erik and he knows how Erik gets whenever he’s worried about their safety.   
  
Once back in the motel, Charles does his work as quickly as he can. If there is a vengeful witch, they need to be protected and he won’t lose Erik to some silly oversight.  Witches are no laughing matter. Any coven with the power to make a heart explode is not to be trifled with, and is probably worshipping something that makes said witch look like a fucking teenager playing Charmed. He’s jogging across the lot to the hotel room, and Erik is unlocking the door before he can even get there, pushing it open by its cheap steel hinges before his partner runs headlong into it.  
  
His long strides make short time in catching up with him, and as he crosses the threshold he is careful to step over the line beyond the doorway of salt, cats eye shells, and what looks creeping ivy leaves. He is quick to catch the protection charm, a small black sachet containing a pentacle, salt, more ivy, fern, and horehound to name a few, strong on a long black leather cord, thrown his way by a Charles who isn’t even looking at him, preoccupied with spreading more of the mixtures over the windowsills and chanting a protection spell in plain English. Erik does the last for him, pinning a bundle of dried fern fronds over the door. Sean strolls inside afterwards, skirting around the taller man, and careful to mind his step. Charles whips a sleeve across his now sweaty brow, and Erik is there to pull him to his feet with a smug grin. He knows its necessary, but he has to do something to ease Charles worry, and making light of the situation is really all he can do.  
  
“Feel better now?” he asks, tucking Charles charm bag beneath his shirt as he has already done with his own, hiding it from sight. Charles tries to ignore the way Erik’s large hands linger on the back of his neck for a moment longer than necessary, trying to stop the shiver that is threatening to betray his feelings as those hands slide down to his shoulders, resting there. Erik is only trying to ground you, Charles thinks to himself, careful not to let his words stray to Erik’s waiting mind, don’t take it for anything more than what it really is. When really, if Charles weren’t so concerned with keeping those thoughts to himself, he would have noticed the darkening in Erik’s cold grey eyes, and the way his fingertips dig into the padding of the suit jacket across his back. Erik is trying to help, but his hands have other intentions, and if Charles were paying the slightest bit of attention he’d know that what Erik is really doing is fighting off the highly detailed mental image of grabbing Charles by those slim shoulders, pinning him against the wall and taking him then and there.  
  
“Yes,” Charles nods, and Sean finally pipes in from the closed doorway.  
  
“Yeah,  don’t worry about me.”  
  
Erik is finding himself more grateful for the angel’s sobering presence than ever. He doesn’t even flinch when met with the man’s glare, but rather strides forward, and Erik, realizing he’s way too fucking close for the eyes of God, pulls back, keeping his hands forcefully at his sides.  
  
“No, really,” he laughs, “There are very, very few things that can kill an angel, and I doubt this witch knows ‘em. If Hank can’t figure it out I don’t see some random witch crackin’ the code either. Most of ‘em don’t believe in our kind anyway. So they’re kind of screwed if they try hurting us. You know?”  
  
Charles nods, glad for it because he only has the two of them. Witches don’t really have curses for monsters, in fact, they don’t have curses planned for anything they fear to be truly more powerful than they are. Think about, you never see a curse for screwing with a demon or freezing a shifter to one form, but there are plenty for bitchy co-workers and lecherous husbands. Charles isn’t thinking about spells though, he’s staring at Erik’s hands and wishing they were back on his body. He’s realizing all of a sudden that there is something really fucking fascinating about hands, Erik’s in particular. Very large, but nimble things, with the ability to tie a gentle ace bandage and snap an enemy’s neck, they can kill and heal, torture and please, and there is something damn fucking arousing about that. Jesus fucking Christ, Charles needs to stop thinking about those hands and get focused on the goddamned case before he gets the lot of them killed. He can deal with it in the shower later, now, they had to find and kill a witch before she or they became tipped off to their presence, and with Fuck Me and Fuck Up around that window of time was closing pretty damn quick.  
  
Sean shifted at the side feeling like he was encroaching upon something he has no right to see. He glances off to the side and stares at a stain on the wall. It’s not a particularly interesting stain, but it’s one none the less and it keeps him from watching Charles and Erik’s private moment.   
  
“Right. Well, then we should probably split up. Our free time is somewhat cramped. Erik will you take the apartment?” Charles asks. Erik thinks on it for a few moments before he nods his head, and Sean can’t help but almost scream in shock because Erik is allowed to go on his own. He wants to dance and throw his hands into the air and yell about how far Erik’s come. However, he’s pretty sure Erik is firmly against things like that, and while the hoodie isn’t Sean’s favorite, it’s his second favorite.  
  
“Do you want me to drop you off?” Erik asks. Sean watches as Charles thinks on it, pursing his lips slightly before giving a nod.   
  
“I’ll take Sean with me, and if we need to meet up, you can get to Erik correct?” Sean just grins.   
  
“Ah, hell yeah, it’s pretty much what you humans think of as teleporting, but not really. It’s like. Actually kind of hard to explain. I mean most of the time I wait until you guys look away and then you’ll just hear my wings flapping, and I’m somewhere else. Though, sometimes I do go stealth mode,” Sean explains. Erik just stares at him.  
  
“Is that a yes,” Erik says.   
  
“Uh, yeah, that’s a yes.” Sean bobs his head. Charles is quiet for a few more minutes before he blinks and seems to shake himself out of his head space.   
  
“Okay. Good, well then, shall we be off?” he says.   
  
“Car or are you getting an angel teleportation ride,” Erik inquires.   
  
“I’ll go with Sean. If I remember the map well enough we’re closer to her apartment and the college is a little further on. So, it’d just be less time consuming if we go that way,” Charles pauses. “Is there any adverse reactions to your mode of transportation?”  
  
“Uh, I don’t know. Could be, but probably not. Just don’t, just don’t clench up like you’re on a rollercoaster, and I think we’ll be fine,” Sean explains. Or mostly semi explains. Charles opens his mouth to ask another question when the redhead places a hand on his shoulder. “So, we’ll meet up laters and be all like I found out stuff.” Erik inches forward, and Charles sends him a look that says he’s fine and okay.   
  
It’s almost like one moment he’s in the hotel with Erik, and within the next he’s staring at a building’s wall they’re at Los Rios Community College and Charles is trying to breathe. Sean is still beside him just grinning like a loon before he turns around and gasps. Charles isn’t ready to turn around his body is still calibrating to the change in positions. Next time Sean offers to take them somewhere, Charles decides, he isn’t going. Leaning down, he presses a hand against the wall and breathes. Sean has already begun his chatter talking about all the really awesome things and Charles is about to just let him go on and off, until he actually tries to. He hears the footsteps starting and whips around to see Sean beeling for a blond boy who looks the same exact age as Sean’s vessel.   
  
A large part of Charles is very, very concerned that Sean will ruin everything. The angel seems to fit into society surprisingly well, but then again Charles is not quite the best judge of who fits well in society or not. Still he’s slow to walk over, Sean looks like a college student while Charles knows he looks decidedly more authoritative. So, he hangs back and watches, but still stays close enough to listen to the angel.   
  
“Hey!” Sean greets. The blond boy looks weary and shifts slightly away, first warning Charles notes. “Sorry, it’s just I’ve been. Ms. Fox’s death kind of messed me up with financial stuff, so I was wondering if.”   
  
“Don’t ask me,” the boy interrupts, “She was in charge of my case too. I’m still trying to figure out my fafsa shit.” Charles catches the brief look of uncertainty crossing, Sean’s face before the angel just basically shrugs and rolls with it.   
  
“Yeah, me too.” Sean agrees. Charles is pretty sure if lets this go on for much longer they’ll never get to the office while Sean tries to make human friends. He walks forward, and pulls out his badge.   
  
“Excuse me boys,” Charles begins in his most authoritative voice. “I’m looking for Ms. Fox’s office, can either of you direct me?” Sean blinks at him and the blond boy glares, though it barely compares to the glares he has seen Erik pass out to people. Charles is about to ask along the lines again when Sean nudges the dangerous looking blond boy.   
  
“I think we can show you, right?” Sean mentions. The blond boy looks at him for a few moments and within those moments Charles is so sure that Sean will get punched in the face. Instead the boy lets out a puff of breath long and irritated.   
  
“Yeah, sure, whatever. I have to head down that way anyways.” He starts walking forward before he holds out a hand to Sean. “I’m Alex by the way.” Sean grins like he’s won a million dollar or friends, Charles isn’t quite sure what would make Sean happier.   
  
“Sean.” Charles tries not to smile. A real agent would, and he’s not supposed to know Sean at all really. So instead he coughs a little.   
  
“The office, please,” he reminds. Alex shoots another glare his way but he ultimately leads them both down the halls. Sean sticks by Alex’s side and has surprisingly good reflexes as he appears to be actually leading instead of following Alex’s lead. It’s almost so good that Charles begins to wonder if Sean actually did know exactly where the office was. The moment they get to the office, Alex turns around to Charles and jerks a thumb at the door.   
  
“Right there it’s usually locked, but since you’re a Fed I guess you have a key or something.” Charles smiles tightly, his or something is usually Erik, but he’ll manage as long as Sean distracts the blond. Sean is already on the ball, but Charles is pretty sure it’s because Sean actually wants to talk to the other boy as opposed to knowing exactly what Charles needs.   
  
“So, what’s your major?” Alex asks.   
  
“Philosophy and some Theology,” Sean answers quickly. “What about you?”   
  
“I just, do, I’m taking courses to be an automotive mechanic. I’ll also be certified with motorcycle maintenance.”  
  
“Really? That’s cool. I have these friends who have this really sweet old car, so if they ever need car help I can come to you right?” Charles nearly snorts as he works on the door. Like Erik would let anyone near the car to fix it. He glances over his shoulder to see if Alex is paying any attention towards him, and thankfully he isn’t.   
  
“I could. But first I have to get the fucking money so I can take the fucking classes.”   
  
“Oh, yeah me too. But Ms. Fox, she well, she kind of died so that puts a stopper on all that.”  
  
“Ms. Fox was a bitch. I know you’re not supposed to talk about the dead or whatever but she was a certified raging bitch. But hey, I’m sure you know that already.”  
  
“Actually,” Sean pauses, “she died before I really got my first meeting with her.”   
  
“Consider yourself lucky.” Charles’ eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he listened to the conversation. At first he was happy that Sean’s responses were all relatively ones that didn’t cause suspicion. As shocked as he is from the comments there is a pang low in his gut as he listens to Sean pretend to go to school, and the other boy who actually does go to school. He aches for learning and to be in a school room, something he’d gotten for a little while, but then Seb.   
  
The door clicks open and Charles walks in without a glance back, but he can still tell Sean and Alex are still going at it talking it up. He would never trade Erik for a semblance of a normal life, but he wants to know how everything works, maybe he could look and see what demon blood actually does to the body on some sort of scientific level. Part of him remembers the withdrawals after Sebs death, the shaking and the pain wracking through his body. But Erik, Erik had had it worse. There was almost not a moment when he hadn’t tasted Seb’s blood. Charles shakes the thoughts from his head, and begins his search of the office.   
  
It turns out the Jane Fox was a mostly neat woman, minus the couple candy wrappers on top of her desk, and she also had no family that she wished to display, only a cat who looks rather bored in the pictures. Charles wonders for a moment if Erik will run into the cat or if someone else has taken it in. He busies himself instead with opening desks and looking for the hex bags. He’s busy under the desk when he hears Alex ask.   
  
“Hey are you that Agent’s partner or something?” Sean isn’t speaking, and Charles is pretty sure Erik would tell him if he was done. He touches the cellphone lightly, no vibrations and when he pulls it out the screen remains cheerfully devoid of icons telling him he missed anything. Slowly, he peeks over the edge of the desk and sees Sam Fuck Up Winchester standing in the doorway. He can’t even tell if Sean is behind him because the man is so fucking huge. Charles’ eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to say something, to make up some excuse when he feels it. Demon blood. It changes a person’s mind. He shudders and looks at the other man. Sam’s mouth is open to ask a question and his eyes stay in on him. In a slight panic Charles pushes mentally against the man. ‘Please just leave, just walk out of the room go down the hall and wait there ten minutes.’ Sam stares at him.   
  
“Did you just?” Sam starts to ask as Sean dives past him, just barely squeezing by, and he can hear Alex startle before the blond also pushes past Sam.   
  
“Uh, sorry, Alex we gotta jump ship, but I would love to come by your place later! How about seven? Cool?” Sean says quickly. He grabs onto Charles’ shoulders, and Alex just looks at them confused before he rounds on the Winchester and cracks his knuckles.   
  
“What the fuck are you doing?” Alex asks, his voice is low and dangerous, and Charles is half certain Sean is going to swoon at the blond boy. He tugs on the hoodie and Sean gives a nod. They disappear.  
  


~*~

  
Erik is very good about remembering Charles procedure, recalling it as if the man were standing right beside him as he approaches the apartment door. Knock at least twice, call out, announce yourself, wait a moment to insure that the house is indeed empty, then enter. And he does. Just like that, unlocking the door with one simple gesture of his hand, his Para-Ordnance in a classic two handed grip, back to the outside wall as he leans carefully into the room, checking that the space is clear before lowering it to his side. He does not holster the Canadian based handgun designed to hunt goddamn bears until he has cleared every room in the apartment, which takes all of five minutes. Only then does he holster the weapon, and don a pair of latex gloves. Charles always puts a fresh pair in the pockets of his Feebee suit, because you’d have to be a fucking moron to pick up anything at a vic’s apartment without something to keep your prints from being traced. Erik is uncultured, uncivilized, and unschooled, he is not an idiot.   
  
He starts with the bedroom, as the crime appears to be one of passion, and storing a hex bag in the kitchen is just fucking stupid. He checks the obvious places, beneath the bed, top of the wardrobe, he checks the medicine cabinet for anything out of place or something that could be of use. He pockets the painkillers and keeps moving. Never know when someone will break another bone.   
  
No hex bags. Not a fucking one. Erik is well trained and very thorough, he checks the sugar jar for fucks sake. There is also no EMP that would mean spiritual activity, or sulfur that can be found. The only thing even remotely out of place is the HoHos wrapper on the coffee table, completely at odds with the all natural soy products that dominate the kitchen. She could have simply had company over. Erik makes note of it, but doesn’t find it to be anything relevant. He’s about to call Charles to see if he’s found anything at the office when the doorknob turns.   
  
The door creaks open, followed by a knock on the doorframe, like an afterthought. “Idiot,” Erik grumbles, taking the hulk of a gun in his equally massive hands and aiming it at the door. Entering without announcing yourself is equivalent to breaking and entering, badge or no.   
  
“Special Agent Malcom, FBI!” the voice booms, and Erik knows exactly who it is before he opens the door, Colt 911 aimed right at him. Dean Fuck Me Winchester, the one thing Charles always warned them about, the last fucker on earth Erik I Will Die Before Another Being Hurts Charles Ever Again Lehnsherr should have to fear, in a suit very similar to his own, dark blue tie though. Erik isn’t afraid though, because really, he’s been waiting for an excuse to do this for a long, long time, and if this chucklefuck attempts to kill him, he can kill him in defense right back. One less prejudiced asshole for him to worry about protecting Charles from. But then he thinks of what it would mean, to kill this complete fucking idiot. Kill him, and the monstrous side of him wins. Damn. That’s okay though, he’s got an equally fucking fantastic idea, and it has him smiling ear to ear like a ravenous pitbull thats got its rabbit cornered in the end of a dark alley with nowhere to go.   
  
“You!” Fuck Me’s eyes narrow, as if the asshole must remember him. Then Erik remembers he has the car parked out front, a blue 66 Plymouth Barracuda isn’t exactly in-con-fucking-spicuous. And the longer that I Will Eat Your Heart smile stays on plastered to the Erik’s face, the more Fuck Me goes from cocky asshole to scared little shit. His gun is shaking, and Erik laughs.  
  
“What are you laughing at, you little bitch?”  
  
“Dean Fuck Me Winchester about to make my fucking day,” he smiles, dropping the gun to his right hand, and with the left he instantaneously pries the Colt from Fuck Me’s poor grip, and swiftly brings down the barrel with extreme force, effectively pistol whipping Dean Fuck Me Winchester in his stupid pretty-boy face with his own goddamned gun. He falls back to the floor, the back of his skull making a loud snap as it collides with the concrete of the outside hallway. And Erik laughs.   
  
He laughs like he hasn’t laughed in years, because yeah, the world is ending, but at least he can cross that off the bucket list, and he’s been wanting to cross that one off for a long, long time. He’s wiping tears from his eyes when he drags the unconscious shit head into the apartment and closes the door, melting the whole tumbler of the door locked behind him as he gets in the car, and drives off, doing a donut in the apartment lot for good measure. .  
  
He’s still fucking laughing.   
  



	7. Pulling Punches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of dealing with the Winchesters
> 
> The fighting reaches it's peak
> 
> Sean rides through it all like a boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What to say about this chapter? 
> 
> It was lovely to write we actually got it done early, but decided to wait on it a while to allow you guys some breathing room. Hehehe. Anyway we both hope you enjoy this chapter!

Charles is bad at waiting when everything is going wrong. He doesn’t like to be, but he is. Or it’s more he’s bad at waiting when Erik’s not around and everything is going to shit, that could very well be the reason entirely. He paces and Sean keeps offering to find Erik and pick him up, but Sean doesn’t sound worried and Charles is pretty sure if Erik was in terrible trouble the angel would have troubles breathing just like Charles is. He wants to scream, but he won’t because no one else is freaking out.    
  
The door opens quickly with Erik smiling behind it. He looks like he’s been given the one thing in his life that he wants. Sean wonders if he’s going to kiss his partner, finally. Flat fucking chance pal.    
  
Erik just walks in and sits on the bed, and does not indeed kiss his partner, instead he just keeps smiling.    
  
“I ran into Sam Winchester,” Charles says the name sans the cute little middle name Erik always gives him. And like magic the smile falls from Erik’s face. He is no longer on the bed instead he’s walking over to Charles, like he should’ve been before. He cups Charles’ face and looks the shorter man over like he expects Charles to just start gushing blood because now he’s here and can take care of him and kill Fuck Up Winchester if there is a single scratch on Charles Xavier. Sean just really wants them to fucking kiss already.    
  
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Erik asks still looking over Charles.    
  
“No, not really. I accidentally outed myself, but in the end Sean’s new friend kind of saved the day,” Charles answers.   
  
“Yeah, Alex is pretty fucking awesome. Though we should probably check on him seeing as he tried to take down the big guy, man’s built like a moose or some shit,” Sean offers.    
  
“Later.” Erik commands. He drags his hands down along Charles’ neck and the shorter man practically leans forward, at that moment Sean is pretty fucking positive that they’re going to kiss. Near death experience and shit like that. Except Erik’s hands stop on Charles’ shoulders, and he looks worried. “You sure you’re okay?”   
  
“He didn’t touch me, but what about you? Did you get a break in the case?” Charles asks. He can’t think of anything that will make Erik smile so wide when it doesn’t involve him. And no, that isn’t jealousy flaring in his gut.    
  
“No, I not accidentally outed myself to Dean Winchester,” Erik answers. Charles pauses because he couldn’t have heard that right.    
  
“Explain? I mean what?” he asks blinking up at Erik.    
  
“I pistol whipped Dean Fuck Me Winchester,” Erik answers honestly. Sean lets out a crow of laughter and flops back on the bed, which Charles only knows because he can hear the springs protest at the sudden weight because he cannot take his eyes away from Erik. Especially not after what Erik told him.    
  
“You walked up to Dean Winchester and hit him with your gun?” Erik looks at him like that’s absurd.   
  
“I used his own gun, against him. I used my powers to hit him in his stupid pretty boy face.” Sean lets out another peal of laughter and Charles is fairly certain the angel is actually rolling on the bed in laughter. He doesn’t know for certain because he still can’t look away from Erik.    
  
“That’s, Erik I don’t know what that is, but it’s something,” Charles squeaks out.    
  
“It’s awesome! Man, if Alex knew about this stuff that would be the best story to tell him!” Sean speaks up. He is actually quiet for a little while before he practically screams “Oh!” and heads for Charles’ cellphone. Despite the fact that Charles is pretty sure an angel shouldn’t know how to use any technology, he’s come to accept that Sean indeed knows more things than Erik, and watches out of the corner of his eye as Sean dials a number. The phone rings and Charles can hear it because somehow Sean manages to put his phone on speaker, which is something Erik can only do on accident.    
  
“Hello?” Raven answers and Charles buries his face against Erik’s shoulder with a groan.    
  
“Raven, my awesome almost friend,” Sean greets. On the other end, Raven laughs.    
  
“What up, angel-man?”    
  
“I believe I have the best road trip story and thus can beat you. Though it’s technically a case story.” Raven is quiet for a little while.    
  
“Alright. Sure lay it on me. But it better fucking beat that ghost story I told you!” she warns. Charles lets out another groan, and Erik just pats him on the back. But he knows that Erik isn’t going to stop the conversation, the taller man is just too damn proud about what he accomplished.    
  
“Erik, while using his powers, pistol whipped Dean Winchester in the fucking face with his own gun. Booyah! First hunt and I get the best goddamn story!” Sean raises his hands in the air and lets out another call of victory.     
  
“Bullshit! No fucking way did Erik just waltz up to Dean Fucking Sexy Ass But Still A Dick Winchester and beat him across his beautiful face!”    
  
“That is not the nickname we agreed on,” Erik stated loudly.    
  
“Holy shit I’m on loud speaker. What the fuck, Erik?”    
  
“Sean put you on speaker,” Charles spoke up.    
  
“Okay, one problem solved, but what the fuck Erik when did you have to time?”    
  
“Winchester came to me. He broke into my hunt and I taught him a lesson.”    
  
“Uh-huh. Wow, did I hear some major fucking ego in that sentence, or are you just wearing your cocky pants today?”    
  
“I think his pants got cocky after he pistol whipped Dean Winchester,” Sean clarifies.Charles groans because his life, his fucking life. He understands how Raven came into their lives and he’s grateful that she did, but Raven and Sean talking about Erik using his powers against a Winchester is just a little too much. And cocky pants? Really?   
  
“Okay, thanks for the input Raven! Tell Hank to call us if he needs anything and we love you!” Charles calls out as he lunges for the phone. Sean gives off a squeak and drops the phone.    
  
“Bye, Raven!” the angel gets out before he’s back on the pillows and staring as Charles as if he’s given him a grenade without a pin. “You could’ve hurt yourself on me and then Erik would find a way to murder me through pure rage or some shit like that.” Erik doesn’t correct him, though he hardly flies completely off the handle if Charles gets a small bruise, maybe a medium one.    
  
“Okay, so now that that is over. Can we please talk about the fact that we basically painted bullseyes on our backs, and while I could probably fix Dean’s memories, I cannot apparently deal with Sam,” Charles tries to sober the mood.   
  
“Well, you could work on Dean and Erik will just clobber Sam until he’s concussed,” Sean offers. Erik looks at Sean like he’s found a new found friend.    
  
“No! What is? No, we have to try to do this and give them little reason to come after us,” Charles tries to reason.    
  
“That would be an excellent plan, if Erik hadn’t beat the older one in the face. Just sayin’,” Sean breaks in again.    
  
“Thank you, for the input Sean,” Charles basically growls. Erik puts his hands on Charles’ shoulders and starts to rub the tense muscles.    
  
“Let’s just finish the case and then we can go to the wind,” Erik suggests. His dexterous hands are still on Charles’ shoulders though one slides up around his neck and starts to work the knots there.    
  
“Alright. Did you find any hex bags? You didn’t answer that, because I didn’t, just candy wrappers,” Charles replies. Erik pauses for a moment.    
  
“I found nothing also, except a Hohos wrapper. Maybe she’s a binge eater sometimes?” he suggests. Charles shakes his head.    
  
“No, she seems too in control. Did you find her cat?” Erik pauses in response.    
  
“There was a cat?”    
  
“Yes, she had this large picture of a cat on her desk. No family just a cat.”    
  
“Charles, there wasn’t even a cat bed in her apartment.” It’s Charles’ turn to pause.   
  
“So, whatever it is explodes hearts and steals cats.”    
  
“I don’t believe we’ve ever dealt with something that does that, Charles.” The shorter man shakes his head.   
  
“No, no I don’t believe we have. Sean do you have any idea on what it is?” Charles asks.    
  
“Did you say you found sweets at both her apartment and her office, but she doesn’t seem like the sweets type?” Sean inquires quietly. “I, I think Hank. We should talk to him. I think I know what it is.”    
  
“What is it?” Erik demands. Charles puts a hand to Erik’s chest.   
  
“Not now Erik. Obviously we’re going to find out,” Charles counteracts the command. He dials Hanks number the phone still in his hand. Hank answered after the first ring.    
  
“Hello?”    
  
“Hank, Sean wants to run something by you,” Charles says. He looks at the angel.    
  
“Ask him about the Trickster I’m going to grab a newspaper.” As Sean leaves, Charles hands clench around the fabric of Erik’s shirt, pulling the man closer. Erik easily follows the movement, his hips flush against Charles’. The silence on Hank’s end goes on.    
  
“Charles?”   
  
“Hank, what do you know about the Trickster?” Pages flip on the other end of the phone and Charles turns to Erik.   
  
“Uh, wow. Usually goes after douchebags and just overall mean people. Kind of gives them their own medicine. What this book tells me is that they basically change the fabric of the world to suit their needs so you want to mess with a guy with aliens, then aliens appear. I’ll have to look a little more on how to kill them, but I’ll get back to you guys on that,” Hank tells him. Erik is so close that Charles can feel his breath on his neck and cheek. It’s warm and it sends a shiver to crawl down Charles’ spine. He almost has to ask Hank to repeat what he has said, but he knows he has the gist of it all.    
  
“Okay, just get back to us quickly. We’re on a short rope right now,” Charles says.    
  
“Uh, well, um, okay. Yeah. I’ll have Raven by the phone so when I find something she’ll just call you,” Hank stumbles over his words.    
  
“Good. That works perfectly.”    
  
“Charles are you okay? You sound off.” Hank asks. In the background Charles can hear Raven shout loudly about how he’s probably having sex with Erik while they’re on the phone and to ignore them. The part that Charles always ignores, wishes that could be the truth, but he shakes himself away from that thought process and tries to move away from Erik. His legs are refusing.    
  
“Just fine Hank. Call me soon, okay?” he says before hanging up.    
  
Erik wants to throw Charles on the bed and ravish the other man’s neck. It’s what he wants so badly it nearly burns in his gut. But he can’t, he won’t. It’s the feral part of him ripping at him telling him to claim Charles, it’s so dark and demented that along with the burn he feels the roll of sick in his stomach. Still Charles pulls him closer, they’re practically in the same spot, with Charles’ thigh between his. It takes all that is himself to not lunge at the other man, and he cannot move. They’re facing each other and if Erik wasn’t so in control all he would do is lean and and press his lips against that perfect white neck. Charles’ eyes go a little dark before he seems to snap out of it. Before Erik knows what hits him, Charles is on the other side of the room with his hands deep inside a duffle searching for something. The heat they created earlier is waning, and Erik just stays in one spot. What he wants from Charles is wrong, he knows this. If it wasn’t Charles wouldn’t leave. Twice.    
  
Sean chooses that exact moment to walk back in with the newspaper in his hands. He flips it around and shows a newspaper article about how a student was eaten by an anaconda. Erik leans forward to make sure he read that right, most of the time he does pretty well but he is pretty sure anacondas aren’t something that Sacramento is known for.    
  
“I thought it might be, but Dude doesn’t just strike once so I was pretty sure there’d be a new story in the paper,” Sean offers up. Charles pulls the newspaper away and reads it, his eyes trailing over the words.    
  
“That is, that is horrible! I mean I know the usual targets are people who are less than desirable, but,” Charles trails off and he looks right at Erik. In most people’s eyes Erik is a jerk and a dick. He comes off as a rough person and probably a very good target for the trickster. Charles takes a deep breath and stays decidedly away from Erik, especially after the close call before. “Well, we can’t do much until Hank calls, but I assume maybe we can try and see if we can find out where the Trickster is,” he offers. Erik pulls at his suit and then looks back at Charles.   
  
“Can we at least dress normally? I’m burning up,” he asks. Charles is quiet for a moment, his mouth open as the images of what Erik’s unclothed body actually looks like passes through his mind.    
  
“Yes! Of course. We should do that.” He agrees. Sean turns his back once more and waits for them to change. Erik doesn’t linger, he takes his duffel bag and stalks off to the bathroom, slamming the door on his way out. Charles looks after him for a moment, worried and concerned, but in the end he just shakes his head and continues getting dressed, knowing there’s nothing he can do about it now. Once the trickster is dealt with and Erik is safe from his chaos, then Charles can deal with whatever it is that has this partner so unhinged. And as he changes into a pale blue shirt and dark jeans, he really wishes he had time for that cold shower. Even with Erik out of the room, the echoes of that moment still coat the atmosphere of their room.    
  
Sean is about to leave the room, get away from all the stifling emotions, when the cellphone on the bed rings. He has already programmed the number in and so when it lights up displaying the name he himself put in, he darts a look towards Charles. But the brunette is still preoccupied by the problem he and Erik are in the middle of. Sean dives forward and grabs the phone before rolling onto his back.    
  
“Hello?”    
  
“Sean? It’s Alex. Uh, you know how you said that if anything weird was happening to just call you, and you pretty much left it at that?” As Alex pauses, Sean’s mind flickers over everything that could happen. Sam Fuck Up Winchester saw them together, which paints a bullseye on the blonde, and then there was the Trickster.    
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“My brother Scott, you know the douchebag we were talking about. He’s, well, he’s acting really fucking weird. Nervous and paranoid. Which for Scott is batshit insane. He’s not like this. So you think you could come by and just chill with me?” Alex asks. Sean glances towards Charles and bites his lip.    
  
“Can I bring a couple of friends?”    
  
“Are they stuck up?”    
  
“Uh, no. They’re pretty, uh, not stuck up,” Sean fumbles for words for a bit. What can he call Charles and Erik, criminals? People who don’t do the law thing? His older friends who are so fucking chill, except not, that anything illegal Alex has in his residence won’t really give them pause. “They don’t really give a shit about most things.”    
  
“Then yeah sure, as long as they aren’t ultra douchebags like my brother they’re welcome,” Alex says.    
  
“Cool, yeah we’ll be there. You wanna give us the address or whatever?” Sean prompts. Alex rattles of the address and then bites out a bye before hanging up on him. Sean blinks at the ceiling for a few moments before he rolls towards Charles and stares at the man.    
  
“And that was?” Charles asks.    
  
“Alex, says brother is acting weird and wants me to come over. Before you say no, I just want to let you know Alex’s brother is a douchebag who wouldn’t help him with FAFSA and other stuff. So, he could be the next victim,” Sean tells him. Charles seems to think on it, and he stays that way until the bathroom door opens and Erik walks out once more clad in a dark tank top and old jeans worn comfortable with time.   
  
“Sean may have gotten us a lead,” Charles says. Erik only snorts and shoves his bag on the ground. “I think it’s a good lead.” Erik looks up and Sean can tell he’s angry, but he can also tell that because it’s Charles and probably himself that he’s angry with that the explosion is going to be spectacular and at some other poor soul. Sean crawls away from the bed and heads towards the door in hopes he won’t have to be the poor angel who gets blasted by it.    
  
“I’ll get the car.” He stalks off without another word. Sean watches Charles watch him and when the other man gives him a shake of his head, Sean just stands up and pulls at his hoodie.    
  
“You guys gotta fix this shit. I mean it’s not my place to tell you how to fix it, but Dude. Fix it. I love you guys, you’re awesome and amazing little miracles that survived some serious fucked up shit, but you two. Man. Just fix it. Kay?” He pats Charles on the shoulder and then runs outside.    
  
Erik’s in the car breathing in and out because Charles looks...Charles looks like he should be pressed up against a wall when he wears clothing like that (when did goddamn v-necks on men become fucking legal?). Erik knows better than to think those thoughts. But those are the very ones that keep spinning around his head like some sort of sick vortex. Sean’s appearance stops them, and for that Erik can feel a little gratitude towards the angel, but if he talks the metalbender will have him flat on the floor and choking for air. Sean seems to have gotten the memo because he just settles in the backseat and plays with his fingers all while staring out a window.    
  
Charles appears not long after, still in that damned v-neck shirt, and looks at him sadly. Erik feels like absolute shit for putting that look on Charles’ face, but he’s too damn angry to open his mouth and apologize for whatever he’s done. He’ll do it later, he tells himself, after he’s killed something.    
  
“Address?” Erik asks. From the back Sean squeaks it and they’re off. Erik drives through the city, maneuvering the car like he’s breathing. There is something about having the power of his car beneath his fingertips when he’s feeling particularly testy. The car seems to roar louder when he’s unhappy. When they arrive at the house, Sean practically crawls over the both of them to leave. Though he’s careful, Erik watches as he puts his feet only on places where bodies aren’t and how quickly he just moves around them. The door opens, and Sean’s pace returns to the more relaxed, but jubilant one he’s used to seeing.    
  
Charles wishes he could be happy, but even as he climbs out of his seat his eyes go to the hard line that is Erik’s shoulders and he knows that they need to get the case over with. What they need is to talk, but not while other people’s lives are at stake. The front door opens, and out steps the blond who immediately stills.    
  
“What is the Fed doing here?” Alex demands. Sean turns back at them and then turns back around.    
  
“Not Fed.”    
  
“What?”    
  
“Just think of him and his boyfriend as a good samaritan types that wanna help that strange cases.”    
  
“No, you fucking explain this!” Alex stops Sean with a hand to his chest and the red head just pats on the blonde on the shoulder.    
  
“They look into cases that might be weird. Think of Mulder and Scully. That’s them,” Sean explains.    
  
“So, he actually did break in,” Alex looks over Sean’s shoulder to Charles. “I thought maybe.”    
  
“Yep, so no worries! We cool?” Sean asks. For the second time, Charles expects someone of Alex nature to just slam a fist in Sean’s face and leave it at that, but the blond boy just huffs out a breath.   
  
“Yeah, come in. Scott’s somewhere.” Charles turns to Erik about to inquire how Sean can affect someone he’s just met so thoroughly, but the set of Erik’s jaw basically tells him to back the fuck up and not speak a word until there is something to kill. Charles wants to put a hand to Erik’s shoulder to calm him down, but whatever is between them is still crackling ominously.    
  
Charles follows after the two boys, and eventually Erik walks in after him. Inside of the house is crammed with an assortment of random things. There are a few motorcycle magazines as well as car magazines. The coffee table is a mess of beer cans and wrappers of sorts. It looks exactly how Charles always assumes that his home would look like, if he had one. Except there would be less motorcycle magazines, and maybe a few more about guns. Charles pulls himself from the sticky thoughts to see Alex staring at him. There is a bruise along Alex’s cheek that Charles just notices, as well as a split lip. Sean is already fawning over the other man, asking him if he’s alright, while the blond just tries to keep up the angry glare.    
  
“Are you okay? Do you need me to patch any of those up?” Sean asks. He’s leaning rather close and, Charles is unsure if Sean doesn’t know personal space, or if he doesn’t know that Alex has personal space. The blond boy shrugs him off, glancing away from Charles and Erik, but Charles can feel the embarrassment roll of the other boy.    
  
“I’m fine. I’ve been through worse,” Alex grumbles. Sean doesn’t say anything more, but he does nudge a shoulder against the blond. They share a gaze for a little while before like what is seeming to become a habit Alex relents a little. “Fine.”    
  
Charles is a little too caught up with the interaction between the boys to notice Erik has filched a cigarette and has headed to the front door again, until he hears the door slam. Turning around he looks back towards the boys who seem too enamored with each other and the, Charles blinks, joint that Alex somehow has in his hands. He feels like he’s part of something he doesn’t want to be, and decides maybe Erik has the better idea of leaving. Charles turns heel and heads for the door.    
  
Erik’s trying very hard to cover the sputtering cough when Charles joins him in the stifling heat on the front porch, the air thick, heavy, and unyielding. There's that look in those blue eyes that says he’s going to be getting a lecture, and already he’s remembering the time years ago when Erik asked about smoking. He knew so little, as to why one would want the taste of smoke on their tongue and the feel of it inside them. It sounded horrifying, and yet so many victims would do it. He explained that it was due to a drug called nicotine that aided the body to relax, a de-stresser as it were, though highly addictive. He closed the conversation by reminding Erik that smoking was bad for your lungs, which were needed to run and fight, so it was best to avoid it. However, Erik is growing tired of running, and tired of fighting. Though he would very much like to hit something.    
  
“You know,” the smaller man begins, taking a step to the side so the smoke doesn’t slap him in the face, “those things take years off your life.”   
  
Erik returns Charles frown with equal measure, for he is well past the state of having a single fuck left to give. Erik is all out of fucks, and all out of patience, its a dangerous combination.   
  
“We don’t have years, Charles.”   
  
This shouldn’t upset him, honestly. Erik and Charles have been functioning this whole goddamned time on just this single fucking mission that neither of them have taken a single fucking moment to consider what the end of the world really fucking means, the end of them. Charles should be horrified, somewhere in his still shock addled mind, he probably is. But right now he’s not afraid, in fact, he is more determined and pissed off than ever. He strides forward now, crossing the divide between them, second hand smoke be damned.   
  
“That’s right Erik, we probably don’t. So how about you stop wasting them being pissed off and sucking on that disgusting thing and just fucking talk to me!” The sheer volume of the voice from Charles, his, calm, collected, patient as a goddamned saint Charles, is enough alone to send his mouth agape the cigarette falling to the ground to be stomped out by the smaller man’s boot. “What is going on with you, with us, Erik? We never speak, you’re angry all the damn time, and everything I do only makes things worse, Erik, I don’t want the world to fucking end and have our last words be another goddamned fight. I can’t, Erik,” and the volumes all gone out of him now, and he’s shaking in his military grade boots like he just had a staring contest with a Zoroastrian demon and won. His eyes look wet with contained tears, and he’s pretending to cough on Erik’s smoke, when really he’s choking back a sob, cause Jesus fucking Christ on a unicorn, the world is going to hell and the last conversation they’re gonna have will be Charles bitching at him about smoking. Fucking shit.    
  
And now Erik is growling, because Charles is about to fucking cry and its his stupid fucking fault and all he wants to do is hold him and make it stop, find some ridiculous way to make him smile, whatever it takes, he thinks, just please don’t cry Charles . Cause if Charles sheds a single fucking tear, that will be it. End of the fucking wall. Fuck the damn rules, and screw his fucking fears.    
  
But then there’s a growl that isn’t Erik at all, and a scream that sounds like a cat being strangled, followed by what can only be described as the sounds of a herd from Jumanji or some shit. But its not a herd, two is not a herd. Its Scott fucking Summers running towards the house like he’s got a hellhound on his heels, the look in his eyes that of someone who knows death is imminent, but is determined to get the fuck out of it anyhow. And the thing that rounds the corner is not a hellhound, its worse. Its much, much bigger, as tall as the goddamned house. Its something Charles knows not to exist, because he read about it going extinct thousands of years ago in one of those super-dorky fossil books of his. Its a goddamned dire wolf, and in a moment’s time its gonna have its jaws locked around Scott Summers like he’s the tastiest chew toy of them all.    
  
They’re too shocked to even scream.   
  



	8. This Blood Ain't Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Winchesters and the boys clash again there are a few more casualties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and enjoying. And for those who leave comments thank you so much! We enjoy them immensely. You are all so fabulous and wonderful. So thank you!
> 
> Also warnings: For Death. Though we didn't feel it was a major character. So no giant tags, yet.

Right behind the dire wolf and Scott, or whatever is left of of the boy, are the Fucking Winchesters. Erik isn’t quite able to yell instead he just stares on as the noises he’s never wanted to hear again slam against him. Bones crushings, screams, and the door behind them is opening. He is pretty sure this is one thing the blond kid shouldn’t see because he’s pretty sure the new chew toy is the boy’s brother. A single shout tears out from behind them ragged with fear and anguish.  Erik  can’t look back. He’s too focused on the arterial sprays of blood on the driveway, and thing  making them. His gun has been in his hand the whole fucking time and he hasn’t  taken a single fucking shot for fear of hitting the elder Summers, but thats not exactly a fucking cause for concern  now.    
  
The head won't stop fucking moving, so unless he feels like showing off for the Winchesters a second time, thats out of the question. He swears, and lets one loose in its right front leg, which is the size of a goddamn tree. The round does what its designed to do, makes a decent hole and  doesn’t come out, ricocheting around in its flesh to further the damage. The thing roars and drops the mess of bone and blood and flesh to ground with a sickening wet plop, but despite the  gaping wound in its leg, it doesn’t go down. It stares Erik down with a look that reminds him all too much of himself before there had been a Charles, and charges.   
  
Before Erik levels his gun again, Sean pushes to the front of them. Erik almost yells at the angel to stop, to get back. The red head sends a look over his shoulder, it’s not a joking expression. Any of the humor Erik is used to is no longer dancing behind the blue eyes. Sean turns back around, facing the giant wolf, he holds out both of his hands, and Erik feels like he’s burning. He clenches his eyes shut, twisting himself away from the angel and whatever the angel is doing. Yet, as he does, he wraps his arms around Charles’ form. If he’s going down he’ll go down protecting Charles to the end.   
  
Charles clings back to them and they’re holding each other even as the burning starts to subside. Their fingers clench at fabric and for a long moment, Erik doesn’t feel anything but relief that Charles is still okay, that they’re both alive and the last thing Charles says to him isn’t about his smoking. He pushes Charles’ hair away from his forehead and they share a breath of relief, they’re still very much alive. Charles is staring at him, his eyes wide and his lips seem so red against his skin. Erik is sure he looks just as pale.  
  
“They have an angel!” The statement isn’t one of curiosity. It was a bellow of outrage.   
  
Charles will look at what’s happening before them, he tells himself, but as he tilts his head away from Erik he catches sight of Alex, knees on the ground with his face pale as fuck and eyes wide. He looks like he’s in shock and he looks like all the others before the people they couldn’t help in time to save everything. Still clinging to Erik he reaches forward, maybe if he touches Alex’s skin he’ll be able to calm the younger man, maybe lessen the shock at seeing his brother as a hunk of flesh. The boy hasn’t even registered that Sean has done something inhuman, his thoughts are revolving around Scott. His brother, his mentor, the man who has simultaneously ruins and saves his life. Charles isn’t quite ready for the onslaught of memories. Of Scott being caring, of him being a dick, of him being everything for Alex who lost his parents at such a young age. Erik snatches his hand back, almost as if he knows what Charles is trying to do, and maybe he does.   
  
“We have bigger things, and he’ll drag you down,” Erik warns. Of course Erik knows exactly what he was doing, Charles turns back and presses his face against Erik’s bare shoulder before he looks over and sees that Sean is standing, looking a little tired and the Winchesters are staring at him like he’s some sort of dragon-unicorn hybrid. Sean sags a little, reaching out for a post before he looks back at them with tired eyes.  
  
“Hey, Castiel,” he greets tiredly and when Charles looks back to the Winchesters. There are three bodies instead of just two and the newest member is shorter and in a dirty  trenchcoat. “I didn’t know who they placed with these two. I mean how could I, but wow you got screwed over.” The man tilts his head almost as if he is unsure of what all is going on.   
  
“Sainov?” he says quietly. “How are you here?”   
  
“Got summoned, and call me Sean everyone else does.” The trenchcoat wearing man that Charles assumes is Castiel, no modern name insisted in the names stead, just stares at the red headed angel.   
  
“Summoned?” One of the Winchesters repeats, but Charles doesn’t really care enough to notice which one it is. He’s skin to skin with Erik, feeling the residual irritation, the adrenaline, and the worry all crashing through him while Alex’s pure grief is at his back, gnawing through his weak shields. It’s all he can do to focus on Sean and other angel.  
  
“Summoned?!” Dean says again, shouting himself hoarse this time. “Summoned as in from the Book of Raziel that a shifter stole from Bobby last week?! Who the fuck...what the fuck are you people?!”  
  
“They’re hunters,” Sean says calmly, “Like you assholes, but better.”  
  
“Well,  Better  sealed the door to the vics apartment shut and forced me to climb out a window, and land in a goddamn dumpster. So tell me,” he spits, seething rage at the metalbender, “What the hell are you?”  
  
“We are what your brother is,” Charles responds icily, hands kneading into Erik’s aching body to try and keep him calm. The last thing they need is for Erik to flatten the man with the broadside of a car. “Except we make the right choices, which is not something I can say of your brother, Dean.” While he’s not particularly pleased that Erik locked the man into an apartment, Charles knows they can deal with that particular fact later--once they’re safe and sound and far, far away from here.  
  
“Sainov, you were grounded for your previous interferences.” Castiel says, interjecting. Everyone looks at the two angels.  
  
“Cas, what do you mean he was grounded? Like Anna grounded or?” Charles turns his gaze back to Fuck Me Winchester walking up to the angel. Erik is growling again, but not at Charles. His gaze is on Fuck Me and Fuck Up Winchester.   
  
“No he never lost his grace, but he was not supposed to come here.”   
  
“Yeah, I get it. I’m not supposed to be here. What are you doing here?” Sean speaks up. “I mean yeah I get you’re the back up, but seriously they weren’t the ones getting charged at by a dire wolf. Mine were.”  
  
“Abominations like them should not have an angel guarding them,” Castiel replies. He says it like it’s common knowledge and Charles has to press closer to Erik, even if the other man is far from unaffected by all the talk. He needs to get a clearer head so he can actually deal with whatever it is that is happening to them. Erik shakes at the word abomination. He starts to pull away, and with it Charles can feel his control slipping, Alex, the emotions, something has put him off balance. Maybe it was Sean’s use of powers, how would angel abilities affect abilities given by a demon, Charles wonders. Still as Erik moves, Charles clings to him. He moves with the taller man.   
  
“He’s not an abomination,” Erik says lowly. Charles turns his head more towards Erik and looks up at him, mouth slightly open.  I’m not an abomination , Charles thinks,  but Erik will never say that he’s not . Erik opens his mouth again, but it’s Sean who speaks instead.   
  
“They’re not abominations! Look at who you’re keeping company with,” he nearly shouts. The red head steps down to the front lawn. “Mister I broke the entire world and Mister I drink demon blood and fuck demons! My boys, my boys are nowhere near abominations, they’re survivors. They save people! They save people because no one was there to save them! Because there is nowhere in the world for them. They are heroes because they chose to be, because they could very well just have turned their backs on everything. Erik,” he gestures wildly in their direction, “it’s amazing that Erik can even formulate sentences. These two, these two boys were forced to guzzle down blood or die. You!” Sean then points to Fuck Up Winchester. “You drink it completely willingly in hopes to be stronger. My boys  are not abominations, they’re the best show that humans deserve to survive.” Silence reigns as Sean stares at the trio. Charles keeps his hold on Erik and he watches the reactions. He watches as Fuck Me turns to Fuck Up and stares him down with an absolutely shocked expression.   
  
Charles can’t see Sean’s face, but he’s pretty sure with the next words that the look on his face is none too kind. “Oh, I thought you knew? Angel boy here knows. Secrets are a bitch.” None of them are surprised when Dean Fuck Me Winchester reels back and plows a fist into Sam Fuck Up Winchester’s face. Erik even lets out a satisfied snort, but then the shorter Winchester turns and faces Castiel.   
  
“You knew? You knew that Sammy was doing this shit?” he accuses. Erik placing his hand on the small of his back pulls Charles away from the conversation at hand. He looks up at his friend, his whatever Erik is really to him because friend doesn’t quite cover it.   
  
“Let’s let them have their spat,” Erik grumbles. Charles raises his brows, he is sure Erik would love to see the Winchesters fall apart at the seams, but as he thinks of it demon blood is too close to home. Someone drinking it willingly is still too strange to even consider. They glance back at Alex, who is still stone stiff and staring at the carcass of his elder brother. The boy hasn’t moved an inch.   
  
“We need to take care of this,” Charles tells him. Erik’s jaw tightens and he releases Charles, but before the shorter man can step forward he’s already moving towards the prone boy.   
  
“I’ll get him into the house. He’ll still drag you under.” ‘That wasn’t what I had in mind, Erik.’ He projects. But before Erik response verbally or silently there is movement on the front lawn once more.   
  
“Hey! No, no! You guys just stay there!” Dean Winchester belows. Erik stops, his body going rigid before he rounds on the other man. Charles knows that face, he’s seen it often enough.  It’s the face he has when they’re on a hunt and something has almost, or has, hurt Charles. It’s a look that’s a few steps before he loses complete control and just becomes the animal everyone accuses him of being. Charles reaches forward to grab at his shoulder, to stop him. Erik pushes past him.  
  
“Erik!” he calls. When Erik gives no response he presses his mind against him. It’s a little more like struggling through syrup with Erik at a distance and Alex still so close emitting his despair.   
  
“You want round two already?” Erik growls out. He moves like a predator, and Charles knows that if Dean Winchester has any amount of metal on his body he’s going to regret every single article he’s put on. ‘Erik!’ he finally calls silently. The feral man stills only for a moment. Whatever reasoning Charles can come up with is pushed out of his throat as Dean Fuck Me, I’m A Fucking Idiot Because I Am Challenging A Man Who Has Already Pistol Whipped Me With My Own God Damn Gun Winchester steps towards Erik. Charles thinks he should say something important, to maybe just jar the other man from his war path.   
  
He looks at Sean, but the angel isn’t looking at him. He’s not even looking at Erik. No, he’s looking at the other angel like he can’t get a handle on the other man.  
  
“Don’t you want,” Sean pauses and he looks up just in time to see Erik stride towards the shorter Winchester the line of his shoulders screaming murder. Charles launches off the porch and follows after him. “Erik!” Sean squawks. For a moment he returns to the man they have been traveling with, but it’s only for a moment before Sean whips back around and stares at Castiel. Back is the angel who stands in front of a charging dire wolf and takes it on without blinking. Charles ignores the shift, the change. Instead he focuses back on Erik’s war path. Lunging forward, he pulls Erik’s arm back clutching the muscled appendage to his chest.  
  
“Erik, don’t do this. We can be the better men,” he whispers. Erik glances at him and then looks back at Dean Fuck Me Winchester.   
  
“We already are.”   
  
Charles opens his mouth to scream, to yell, that Erik is wrong. That Erik is simply reiterating everything Seb taught him. That they were better, that they deserved to kill and to take and to become the powerful beings they ought to be. This of course, is wrong, however, in this instance, the phrase is not wrong. Everything that Sainov, that Sean had just said, was not wrong.  
  
“I know, Erik, but to be the better men we must continue to act like it. We do not kill without judgement. We do not shoot first and ask questions later. We are  not mindless soldiers to our creator’s cause,” he snaps, glaring at the man Erik has his sights set on, before turning back to the only man on this planet Charles trusts with his life, “Be the better man here Erik,” and he doesn’t say the rest out loud, but he pleads to Erik’s conscience  ‘for me, Erik, please.’  
  
And to everyone’s blatant surprise, he does. Sean lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, the Winchesters and Castiel draw their hands away from their weapons. And Erik, Erik takes one step back, just one, to where Charles is standing, and finally looks at him. Erik couldn’t face him while he was stalking towards Fuck Me, one look at that gentle fucking face and its brilliant blue eyes and it would have been his undoing, just as it was now. He expected to see horror there, or fear, but instead there was only gratitude, and a great swelling of pride. It flooded into him as Erik put his hand on the man’s bare arm, digits wrapping halfway around the swelling muscle. His lips are in a tight line, but when Charles smiles, he can’t help but barely, for only a flash, half-smile back.   
  
I didn’t mean to scare you, Charles.  Its the closest Erik will come to apologizing. He doesn’t see anything wrong with kicking the crap out of Dean Fuck Me Winchester for trying to contain his Charles. To think he can confine them again to one place, like they’re animals that need to be tagged and caged.  
  
Charles can’t stop the smile that’s spreading on his face, reaching out to place his free hand on Erik’s shoulder, shining with sweat and dirt and other not-pleasant things. Most people would pull away. Charles grips tighter, blunt nails digging into the muscle just so.  
  
I’ve never been more proud of you Erik  
  
“You two crazy kids. You’re gonna be the death of me,” Sean tells them. At the mention of death however, he turns around to see Alex. Alex who is still on his knees, but now he’s looking at Sean.   
  
“Can you fix it? Can you, can you bring him back? He’s my, he’s my, he’s my brother. Please, bring him back, please,” Alex babbles. He lurches towards what was once Scott. Yet, before he can manage to get close enough to touch, Sean is there, the angel has never ran so fast, and gripping onto Alex’s shoulders.  
  
“I wish I could, I really do Alex. I wish, but I, I just can’t,” Sean says. Just like always he does his damn best, but there is no way it will ever be enough. Alex looks back to him.   
  
“Why the fuck not? You’re some kind of thing that is powerful. Why can’t you bring him back?” his voice raises until he is practically screaming in Sean’s face. “You made that fucking monster disappear to save your friends, but you couldn’t save him. So make him reappear!”  
  
“I can’t,” Sean’s voice breaks, “I wish I could. I really wish I could, but he’s gone. You need, you need more power than I have.”   
  
“Why did you save them? Why were they more important than, why is he not good enough?” Alex shoves at him, thrashing away from the angel as anger pours off of him.   
  
“Sainov could not save your brother, his is the by-product of a Trickster prank gone wrong,” Castiel offers instead of apologies. It’s the wrong damn thing to say, Sean knows this, he knows the second Alex’s lips tremble, not in sadness, but rage. Alex slams his elbow against Sean’s chest with a force that would’ve sent him sprawling. Instead Sean rolls with the motion, but he takes Alex with him, he can’t let the boy attack Castiel. His brother is very much still part of the angel brigade.   
  
“Alex,” Sean pleads, “please, calm down. Just please.” He looks at Charles but the other man is still too entangled with Erik to even see anything around him. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows that it’s a move that will usurp any trust Alex might have left in him. Sean gently presses a hand to Alex’s neck, it’s not a move that he has to make--yet it comforts him none the less--and he puts Alex to sleep. The other boy goes limp and Sean just looks up at Castiel. “As okay-ish as it was to see you, and by that I mean it really wasn’t all that nice but I don’t hate your guts, I think we should take a break from this family reunion and go to our own corners. You going to handle this trickster thing or you leaving it to me?”   
  
Dean snorts as if Sean has suggested they start performing exorcisms on homes, instead of rocksalt and fire. “Yeah, like we’d leave this to you? Don’t count on it angel boy, in fact, how about we take this one, and your boys scurry off to your little corner of the country and cuddle it out, yeah?”  
  
“So, you’re saying we should take it on because you’re too emotionally constipated. Good, we can handle that.” Sean shot back. He’s pretty sure if Dean is used to Castiel, then he’s not used to Sean’s type of angel.   
  
“You’re ill equipped is what,” the demon-lover pipes in, like he’s got something to prove, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with! You have no experience dealing with this thing--”  
  
“You have no  idea what we’ve experienced.” Erik growls, and Charles tightens his grip on the man like an owner reeling in the leash.   
  
“But I do!” a man’s voice pipes in, bright and joyous, standing just where the towering terror of a wolf was only moments ago. He’s thin and nondescript, average height, brown hair, brown eyes, with a sharp nose. But its the eyes that give it away, they shine with something that is certainly not average, not pleasant, but giddy, and fatal. “Oh, aren’t you two adorable!” he chirps with a skip in his step. Something about it reminds Charles of Puck from  A Midsummer Night’s Dream , and it’s not a good thing to remind one of.  
  
“Funny, I remember when Erik carved Charles here up like a Christmas ham, didn’t ya?” he laughs, like he’s remembered a very excellent punchline that he can’t wait to share, and he does. “Really, masterful work Erik,” and Erik is shrugging his partner off like he’s ill fitting outerwear. He’s moving towards this asshole with lethal intent and various hovering automobiles to prove it. He’s got his gun in hand too, cause Erik doesn’t know what kills a trickster, but he’s open for experimentation.   
  
“And Sammy!” he greets the taller Winchester, arms thrown wide like he’s greeting an old friend and wanting a man-hug or some affectionate shit. “Sam, Sam, Sam,” he goes on, arms falling to his sides, shaking his head like a disapproving uncle. “I don’t think I have words for you, Sammy boy. Except...well...” he taps his chin, pretending pensieve, but of course he knows all along, he knows  everything . “Is it better hot or cold? On the rocks, or hot tamale?”   
  
The fact that Sam’s eyes turn black with power certainly don’t help matters. Charles face grows pale with fear, because he’s looking at the thing that could have been Erik, could have been  him . The Trickster isn’t afraid though, he just cackles like he’s seen the funniest viral video on the planet. Dean’s not looking at this though, the ink pools that were once the infamous puppy dog eyes of Sam Tell Me Your Life’s Story Winchester. He’s got a stake dipped in something that looks like dried blood, for once he isn’t fighting with Erik You Said What About Charles Lehnsherr, he’s  helping.  If that’s not a sign of an oncoming apocalypse, Charles doesn’t know what is.   
  
“Dean, wait!” Castiel commands, and everyone is surprised when he listens. Erik turns to Sean, who nods in agreement. The metalbender doesn’t back down, doesn’t drop the giant SUV floating many feet off the ground, but he stops his progress. Dean puts his hands up in surrender, slowly placing his weapon on the ground, and Erik doesn’t understand what the fuck he’s doing. Charles is thoroughly confounded by the turn of events, and just relieved Alex is unconscious for the time being, because the boy would launch himself at the monster like a human hand grenade if he could.  
  
“No, Cas is right, we didn’t come here to fight,” Dean states and the Trickster cocks his head to one side in interest, “We wanted to ask for your help.”  
  
“What could possibly have you boys begging for the aid of little old me?”  
  
“The apocalypse. You don’t want it to happen any more than we do. See, I think you like this world, as much as like screwing with the people in it. So help us. Help us keep the good times rolling, yeah?”  
  
The creature that looks like a human but clearly is anything but, puts on a very serious expression for maybe a heartbeat, before he’s bending at the waist in a side-splitting guffaw. It makes Sean’s antics over Erik’s tale of kicking ass and taking names look stoic in comparison.   
  
“That’s where you’re wrong Dean, twice. See, I’ve grown tired of you stupid humans and your pathetic crap. Its endless, and it’s about time it came to an end. See, I’m not a trickster, not really.”  
  
“No,” Sean bites out, the expression on his face is one that neither of his hunters have ever seen before. He speaks as if he would rather spit the words onto the ground below him. “You’re not. You’re an Angel of the Lord, or I guess thats just you’re an angel now, had to be an angel of the Lord when you’ve run away, isn’t it? Long time no see, Gabriel,” There is nothing polite or kind how Sean greets the other outed angel. ‘Long time no see, Gabriel’ sounds far more like ‘I will tear you limb from limb and beat you to death with your own dismembered bits.’   
  
“You too Sainov, good to you buddy, but tell me, can  you really be considered Of The Lord when you’ve been in the time out corner for almost a damn decade?” he sneers, and Dean is backing up, because, well, that explains why the stake never fucking worked all those times, and oh shit, the one fucking weapon he’s got ain’t gonna cut it. He knows his stupid gun will make a dent on a goddamn angel, it didn’t even do anything to Cas. Its not often Dean feels outgunned, thats what the arsenal in the freaking trunk is for. There’s a the problem when no one believes in angels, there is absolutely no known way to kill them either. Dean is backing the hell up, very slowly, because he thinks if its gradual enough maybe Gabe won’t notice and he’ll make it out without a scathing comment towards his person.   
  
Erik, on the other hand, doesn’t move. He didn’t approach the Trickster turned angel like Dean did, all of his weapons have a range that really no one else can boast of. They can go as far as Erik can fucking see. So Charles doesn’t tell him to back up, but the mental message to stand down is clear in his mind. He can’t do stand down, he can’t let this go. Not for Alex’s brother, not for Sean’s anger, not for Charles’ safety. He’s not standing down until he knows for damn sure they’re gonna make it out alive, and considering the angel’s stance on humanity, he doesn’t see that happening anytime soon. Erik focuses his control.   
  
“Sainov hasn’t killed thousands of people, Gabriel,” the angel in the dirty trench coat states, and there is almost no feeling in it. Where everyone else is anger and rage and I will punch you in the face just give me a reason, Castiel is as cold and detached. It doesn’t go unnoticed by either Charles or Sean. The Winchesters seem to think nothing of it, as neither of them glance towards the angel.   
  
Then there is Gabriel is giving Castiel that knowing fucking look that says he knows everything about Cas that makes his fatal funnies look like harmless cherry bombs in comparison. And suddenly Sean does not trust the angel in the dirty trench coat because he has no idea who he takes his orders from. And the question crosses his often times brilliant mind: whose side is Castiel really on?  
  
“Thousands are gonna be a dime in the bucket, very, very soon Castiel. The apocalypse is coming, kiddos, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop it. You’ve got one seal left, and both sides are gunning for it. You can stop the demons, and you maybe you can defeat my brothers, but you can’t stop us both,” and he doesn’t say it with defiance, like its a fucking challenge, because its not he treats it like it’s not even his fight. It’s just a fact, and so is what he says next, aiming the words at the Winchesters like Erik with a bullet, with no-way-you’re-dodging-this-one.   
  
“Lucifers gonna walk, and when that shit hits the fan, it will be caused by one of you plebeians standing before me. Enjoy it while it lasts, because it won’t last long. After the dominos fall the whole world is going to burn.” And with that the devious motherfucker is gone, just gone, no flash of light or sound about it. Dean turns to Cas, and the angel gets incredibly close, enough so that Charles wonders just  what is going on between them, and when neither of them speaks, he decides not to scan Dean’s mind. He gets on a few broadcasted thoughts though  Lilith, the last seal before Cas abruptly grabs his hand, took hold of Sam’s coat sleeve, and disappears in the same fashion.   
  
The cars fall from their short hover with a small crash, setting off a few car alarms in their wake. There’s a slight pain flickering across Erik’s face from the exertion needed, but Charles’ safety is concerned in question, his own pain is of little consequence to him. Everything was more or less fuck the consequence right now because, according to that fucking angel, this was it. End of the world. Not a fucking thing he could do to stop, to save Charles. The way the angel spoke of it, it could be tomorrow. Maybe a day or two. Come Saturday, Erik wagers mentally, there was no longer going to be a them anymore much less a world. There won’t be even be a Charles. It’s that sharp realization that has his heart pounding in his chest, broadcasting fear, pure and absolute, so loud Charles could have picked it up for miles.   
  
Charles, who fought for the freedom for a decade. Who risks everything for their survival, who spends every waking moment of his entire life since fostering Erik, something that for Charles it has been the most exhilarating, awarding, insane experience of his entire life. Now it’s all ending. Gone will be the stitches in Erik’s flesh, the past time of counting of scars to see how many he has now. There will be no more watching Erik melt down bullets with nothing but his power. No more scary smiles and terrifying creatures and even deadlier hunters. Gone everything fucking gone. He’s trying to breathe, but it’s like someone sucked the air out of the room, which is funny, because they’re outside.  
  
Charles know there is no point in comforting him, what is there to say? Instead he takes a deep breath and looks at Erik. He says the only thing he can think of.   
  
I will never leave you, Erik,  he whispers, a comforting caress in his mind, wrapping itself around his thoughts in an attempt to pacify him.  In the end, we will always have each other.  And thats all he can, its all he can promise him, because it is the only thing Charles knows with one hundred percent certainty.   
  
Erik nods, and for once, Charles doesn’t chastise him for not using his words. He practically runs to the other man and wraps his long arms around him, tight enough to crush him, but Charles is much too sturdy for that. And his only reply is  Always.  
  
It’s then that Alex wakes up.  
  
“What the FUCK just happened?” he screams, and he’s looking at Sean, who is still cradling him in his arms as if the man is a sleeping kitten, like he’s going to fucking kill him.  
  
It is a damn good question.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Brothers In Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys deal with the aftermath of the angels and the Winchesters.
> 
> Sean loses his patience.
> 
> The dead are laid to rest.
> 
> And punches speak louder that words.

Alex shouts, and slams his fist hard against Sean’s face. He is unrelenting as he rolls on top of the angel and proceeds to hit the red head over and over again. It’s a beating and it’s brutal. Erik steps forward intent on helping the damned angel who’s growing on him, much like Raven has over the years. Charles, however, grabs at him again and shakes his head.   
  
“They need to talk,” he says softly. Again, he tugs at Erik and makes him refocus. It’s when he stares at Sean just laying there, not in any pain, allowing Alex to hit him. His arms are spread out across the ground as if he’s welcoming it all.   
  
“What the fuck? Did you fucking roofie me?” Alex demands. He slams his fist against Sean’s face, but the other boy doesn’t make any sounds of pain, he just lets him. The anger burns and crackles within his body. He’s being allowed to be angry and that makes him angrier. He grapples for the hoodie, and pulls Sean off the ground. “Why won’t you defend yourself?” he screams. His fingers twist in the fabric, and Sean just looks at him with an unmarred face, and a sad gaze in his eyes.   
  
“Because I couldn’t save him, and I broke your trust to save you,” Sean explains. He doesn’t say he deserves it, but Alex can hear those words. The very ones he would’ve screamed at Sean if the angel had in anyway tried to deflect any of the blame. His breath shudders in his chest. Alex lets Sean drop before he presses his face against the other man’s chest. He doesn’t cry, Alex Fucking Summers will never cry. However, he does breathe heavily, his entire body shuddering as he tries to piece it all together.    
  
The thread is old and brittle and the pieces are far too jagged, but Alex tries, as he presses his face harder against Sean’s chest. It’s then that Sean runs a hand down his back, along his spine, a soothing touch that’s supposed to tell him everything will be okay. It’s not, it never will be. Scott is dead, and he is never coming back. Alex feels like he’s choking on air, unable to breathe properly because everything has slipped through his fingers. His hands ache from the damage he tried to do to Sean and all he can think now is that he deserves that lasting pain. Scott’s gone the least he can suffer with is the aches.   
  
“Why?” he asks. Sean’s hands stop moving. “Why him? Why this? Why any of it?” He slams his hand down on the unforgiving ground below him and he can feel Sean go tense in a way he hadn’t before.   
  
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Sean rambles. He keeps going on about how he’s sorry, and how he wishes he could fix it, and all Alex wants to hear is why it happened. Why the trenchcoat bastard said anything that he had and why, he just wants to know why.   
  
“Tell me.” Alex’s voice cracks, but he lifts his head so that he can stare down at Sean so he can make sure the the red head, whatever he is, doesn’t lie to him. Sean sits up, and pushes him away, just enough that he has space, but Alex can see the other man readying himself.   
  
“An angel. It was an angel that killed your brother. I, I don’t know why he does it or really what enjoyment he gets out of messing with mortals, but he does it and I’m pretty sure he’s been doing it for a while.” Sean pauses, he looks up at Alex like he’s waiting for the next hit, the next moment Alex will let it all go. Alex sits back on the ground stunned.  
  
“Your brother is the cause of my brother’s death, and you’re an angel?” he asks. His voice is deceptively calm. Sean nods slowly. The hit isn’t unexpected, but Sean’s head snaps to the side none the less. The angel stays that way for a while, head turned to the side away from Alex but he can see Erik and Charles standing at a distance. Charles’ hand on Erik and the look on Erik’s face is hard to decipher, but Sean is pretty sure it means something akin to Erik not wanting him to get hurt anymore. Sean shakes his head and looks back at Alex.   
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
“You keep fucking saying that! But it doesn’t bring my brother back to life! It just, it just makes me feel fucking worse!” Alex grabs at his hoodie. Sean expects the blond to shake him, but he doesn’t. Instead the human just leans against him once more.   
  
“I, I can’t promise you vengence. I really can’t Alex. Not against someone as powerful as Gabriel, but I can tell you that we’ll do everything we can to stop all of them from getting what they want.”   
  
“I don’t sit on the sidelines, Sean.” The angel blinks, he knows how people react to things they either tell you that that is not enough or they break more. He looks up at Alex and he can see barriers coming up, he can see Alex beginning the long road to sealing himself off from his emotions. He wants to tell the boy to stop, but maybe it’s for the best. Distancing oneself from emotions was more or less what Charles taught Erik to do and it allows the man to still function.   
  
“I don’t understand,” Sean says. Alex looks at him, and he can see the pain in his eyes to utter brokenness behind the thin mask  
  
“If you’re going to jab your fucking angel brother in the eye, I want to be there when you do,” Alex tells him. “Even if you don’t let me, I’ll find a way to get there.”   
  
“I, uh,” Sean looks back at his boys. He’s pretty sure that they’ll take in Alex, they take in strays, or more or less Charles takes in strays and Erik just doesn’t complain. “Alex this is, you’ll have to leave your life.” Alex pulls at his hoodie again.   
  
“I don’t have a life. Your brother killed it!”    
  
And it’s that comment, cutting quick to the bones of the fallen angel, that has Charles at the end of his goddamn rope, because really, even Charles Patience of a Fucking Saint Xavier has his limits.  
  
“You cannot blame Sean for the actions of Gabriel, Alex. Sean is the best of them, and the monster that did this is one of the worst. The man you just pummeled has risked his life time and time again to save mine. He has been imprisoned ever since for doing the right thing. Do not compare the two as if they are similar or equals. I can assure you Alex, they are far from it.”  
  
Contrary to popular belief, Erik is indeed concerned for the human’s involvement. Even if he’s less concerned with safety, and more so with the young man getting in the way and getting himself killed. _He’s not trained_ Erik thinks, directed flawlessly at Charles mind as if he’s speaking without moving his lips at all. _He’s young, he’s reckless, he’s a liability._  
  
Charles takes a breath, long and deep, savoring it because who the fuck knows, it could damn well be his last.  
  
 _There are only five of us, and God only knows how many of them. Our world just destroyed his life; the least we can do is allow him to join ours. If you have any better ideas, I’m open to suggestion._  
  
Erik’s grey eyes flicked up at the man, pissed off not because of Charles standing, but because he was right. And no, Erik didn’t have any better ideas. He didn’t have any ideas really, aside from finding a way to put the Winchesters in the ground for good, and maybe stopping this thing. Any other he thoughts he have involve  violence, or far more wicked things involving Charles Xavier and the backseat of the 1966 Barracuda, which is very roomy and affords lots of space for certain…activities.  
  
“Then let me fight with you!” Alex demands. Sean says nothing, he’s more than a little touched that Charles stood up for him.   
  
Erik nods reluctantly, like he’s just agreed to someone taking his gun, or having a tooth pulled, whichever would be more agonizing, it’s difficult to say. He’s hoping that if he plays along, the time and effort it will take to train Alex properly will be enough to distract Charles from their dreaded “talk”. He’s hoping it won’t be so violent, because Erik doesn’t think he will take a blow to the face with such grace, regardless of who its from and how much he cares for them. Charles smiles like he’s just been given fresh rounds and something to put them in.   
  
_Don’t count on it Erik._  
  
“You can fight alongside us, so long as you work with us,” Charles answers, choosing his words carefully. Alex is clearly not the type who plays well with others, and Raven and Hank are not exactly normal or easy at that. Hank is shy and fidgety, because in reality he’s a ticking time bomb, and Raven is…well…Raven. She’d probably start mimicking his voice in a day, maybe less. And how would he take the revelation of Charles’ and Erik’s abilities? There are no easy answers, but the risk is one Charles is willing to take. They owe Alex that much, if not much, much more.  
  
“I can do that,” Alex promises.   
  
“I sincerely hope so,” Charles replies, ignoring Erik’s mental goading of violence should the boy break his promise, “Because angels are only the beginning. The creatures that go bump in the night often come out in the day, and some of them are our friends.” The expression Alex gives off is muddled between confusion and vulnerability.   
  
“I,” Alex starts, but Sean puts a hand on his shoulder.   
  
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, but what we need to do is.” The angel trails off and glances towards the body, what was once a body. Charles follows his gaze, feeling the bile rise in his throat. The best thing to do for man would be to salt and burn him. It would keep him from becoming a vengeful spirit and tormenting Alex further. Except there is Alex to consider in the decision. The brother is also following the angel’s gaze. Charles watches as the boy goes ashen, and his mouth drops open a little more. He doesn’t want Alex to attack Sean again, and he’s about to allow Erik to get in between them when Alex does nothing but stare at the hunk of flesh.   
  
“Burn it,” Erik says. He’s looking dispassionately at what was Scott, but Charles can feel the turmoil curling throughout his body. He doesn’t want to trigger Alex, Charles knows this, but Erik also knows no other way to broach the subject.   
  
Sean snaps his gaze back to them, and Charles wishes he could read angels because the boy’s emotions flicker over his face like a flip book and then he looks down. It’s Alex’s emotions that almost blast through him. The first is a loud NO before it drops into wariness. He’s unsure, and his turmoil is also heavy with his grief.   
  
“It would put your brother to rest,” Charles offers. “He would be complete at peace.” Peace echoes in Alex’s mind like some sort of sacred word. He stares at Charles, and all Charles can do not to be pulled down is to grab hold of Erik again. Erik comes easily to him, slow though. His mind is screaming about getting rid of the body, but it’s also whirling about the conversation that they will have to have. Charles refocuses, he looks at Alex and watches as Sean strokes the blonde’s hair. “His death is violent, he’ll most likely become a vengeful spirit. Alex, we should give him a good send off.” Alex shoves Sean away from him and actually stands. Charles can feel the spark of anger ignite in Erik, and he steps forward trying to keep Alex from making it worse and reminding Erik of things better left unspoken.   
  
Charles can feel how revved Alex is becoming, beside him Erik is feeding off the anger like it’s a cool drink after a hot day. It’s almost like a vortex of rage and Charles can only sate one. He dips towards Erik, but is quickly rebuffed with a harsh No. It makes Charles feel the cracks and the unravelling between them all the more vividly. He turns back to Alex and places a hand on the blonde boy’s shoulder. He fights against the drag and pull of the emotions. “Alex,” he says softly, “It’s the best we can do for your brother.”   
  
While Charles is busy, while he’s focusing on the boy, Erik stalks forward towards Sean, Sean’s face that should be mess of bruises and swelling stays perfectly normal. Nothing like the other kids, with their black and blue faces which eventually seeped into yellow if they survived long enough.  Sean looks fine, he looks healthy, because he’s a goddamned angel.   
  
“What the hell is all of that?” he growls. Sean doesn’t back up, he doesn’t flinch, it’s almost odd to see the red headed angel just turn towards him and look with sad eyes.   
  
“That was what we’re also up against. The angels who want this to happen,” he replies softly.  
  
“Why are they killing people? Aren’t they supposed to save us? Protect us?” Erik is demanding now, his voice raises enough the Charles looks at him, and he is ashamed for a moment. Yet, then Sean raises a hand and waves the other man off.   
  
“Jealousy? Dad’s got a new favorite and it’s not them. I don’t know why Gabe is doing this, he ran away a long time ago, unable to face what his brothers were doing. He doesn’t quite have much room to talk. Still.”   
  
“So, there isn’t much difference between you angels and demons then? Humans are just fucking free game. Just pawns for you fuckers to play with!” A red flush crosses over Sean’s face and he does look away for a few heartbeats. Erik can feel Charles at the back of his mind asking to be let in, and he aches to do just that to allow Charles back in to fill the void his absence has left. But he’s so angry and disgusted with himself. They’ve failed, they let some monster kill an innocent, and then to put salt on the festering wound, the monster got away. No, not the monster, the fucking angel got away. Erik reels back and slams his fist hard against Sean’s face. It hurts more than he thinks it should, maybe angels are made out of sturdier things. But as he hits the angel, much like before, Sean doesn’t fight it.   
  
Instead he stands there head turned to the side looking away from Erik. The angel’s bottom lip trembles, and the self-loathing Erik feels daily multiplies. Alex hit Sean numerous times, but it takes only one blow from Erik to send the angel to tears. He is a monster. A fucking monster. There’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s digging into his skin, pulling him back against a chest and then a forehead rests where the hand once was. Arms wrap around his waist, and there’s a warm breath on his neck all while _‘_ _you’regoodyouaresogoodyou’renotamonsterERIKyouarepreciousyouaretheonlypersonERIKPLEASE_ _’_ crashes into his mind. Charles is projecting, but Charles hasn’t accidentally projected in years. It’s all Erik can do is to lean back against the man and keep his eyes closed as the mantra streams through his mind.  
  
“Erik,” Charles whispers. There is so much something in his voice that all Erik wants to do is turn around and hold Charles close. They’re breaking at the seams, but they’re also holding it together by the tips of their fingers. “I can’t lose you. The world is set to end, and I can’t lose you too.” Erik opens his eyes and he looks down at the hands wrapped around his abdomen. He looks back up to see that Alex has become less of an asshole towards Sean and is now glaring at him, with a hand on Sean’s chest. The angel still has a red face.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Sean says, his voice cracking. “I’m so, so, so sorry.” It’s not sadness that makes Sean’s face red, Erik is slow to realize, but shame. “I should make it better, I should’ve fixed things.” Whatever else Sean says is muffled by him turning towards Alex and burying his face in the other boy’s neck. The blonde boy’s eyes widened, but he doesn’t move, he stays still. Though it only lasts a few moments before Sean pulls away, brushing at his eyes with the sleeves of his gray hoodie.   
  
Charles still has his arms around Erik, his thumb rubbing circles along his abdomen. It’s calming, and yet as it sends sparks through his body it becomes so much more than calming. Erik knows he needs to pull away, but the constant mantra Charles is feeding him is so incredibly intoxicating. It takes Erik a moment to notice that Alex is still glaring at him, a silent what the fuck, across the distance. Yet, even as he notices, Charles’ hands drag him back under to the safe place. Erik isn’t sure when Charles’ hand finds its way under his shirt and onto his flesh, but the sparks flare even hotter as the other man touches him. Except, he can’t, fear chills his lungs, Charles is in his mind and if he sees that Erik wants him, he’ll know. Erik pulls away.   
  
“We need to get started making the pyre.”  
  
Charles frowns. He can feel the fear, but Erik pulls too far away too fast for him to even find the source. He wants to ask what is bothering Erik exactly, does he fear Gabriel returning to finish up the job or maybe the apocalypse has finally settled in. He wants to reach forward and touch Erik again, calm him--though there is a part of him that wants to do so much more. Still, Charles knows he needs to step back, that Erik needs to be able to stand on his own. The telepath nods his head.   
  
“We do need to. Alex, can we?” he asks. They still need Alex to say okay. They need the boy to allow them to burn his brother, a pang from Alex jars Charles for a moment before the blonde boy nods slowly.   
  
“It’ll be the best thing for him?” Alex’s voice wobbles. Charles bobs his head.   
  
“Yes, it will put him at peace.” He can’t promise the boy Scott will go to heaven. He was murdered by an angel. What does that do? Plus, if angels like Gabriel and Castiel exist, angels what would ground a kind soul like Sean for trying to help a child, Charles is fairly sure heaven isn’t a place he wants to go to.   
  
“What do you need to do?” Alex asks.   
  
“Build a pyre, wrap up the,” Erik looks at what was once Scott. _‘Remains_ ’ Charles offers silently, “remains, and then we can have a proper funeral for him.”  Alex bites the inside of his cheek, his teeth worrying against it.   
  
“Alright. Let’s build the pyre. Where though?” Charles shares a glance with Erik.   
  
“The countryside would be preferable. Less neighbors to call the cops about smoke in the air,” Charles answers.   
  
“We need to wrap up,” Erik motions with his hand, “that, and get it in the trunk.” Charles cringes, but Alex doesn’t fly at Erik with fists raised, instead he sends another venomous glare. Though Charles thinks that maybe Alex isn’t leaping at Erik because Sean has silently put a hand on his shoulder. Charles turns back to Erik.   
  
“You get the tarp?” he asks. Erik’s nod is brief, but he heads off to his baby. They make relatively quick work of getting the disfigured pile of flesh, blood, and other bodily fluids onto the tarp. Charles is sure he’s never going to be able to get the sensation of handling such a broken body out of his mind, but he’s more of worried that Erik will remember someone else’s flesh in place of Scotts. He keeps his eyes on Erik as they wrap the body up, trying to keep the fluids from being able to spill over anywhere.   
  
Eventually, Erik pops the trunk with his powers and they both haul the body over to it before laying it in the back. It takes surprisingly less amount of space than Charles thought it would, but then again parts have been more compact after the dire wolf got through with it. Sean and Alex are at their backs for a little while, until Sean coaxes Alex into the backseat. Alex’s mind is still a whirlwind of grief and anger, but there’s a tiny thread that Charles can follow that leads to Sean.   
  
Erik gets in the driver’s seat, and Charles climbs in beside him. They don’t talk as Erik drives off towards the country and away from the city. ‘ _We’ll have to go back to the motel at some point and check out_.’ Charles tries to remind.   
_  
‘I know. You can do it while I set up the pyre.’  
_   
_‘You and Alex can do it. It’ll be best to let him do something to help with his brother’s funeral. Things like this are more for the living than the dead. It could be cathartic. I mean, it could make him feel a little better. I’ll take Sean.’_ Charles offers as a compromise. Erik is completely silent before he nods.   
_  
‘Fine.’  
_   
“Sean, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me to the motel, we still need to check out of our room, it would be easier if I you could zap us back to Erik and Alex.” He sees the angel’s hesitation immediately and leans back. Sean seems to get the message as he leans forward, a tiny glance back to Alex before Charles whispers, “‘And I’m sure our young friend could use some space.”   
  
Sean sends another glance back at Alex, he stares for a long moment before Alex gives a short jerk of the head up and down. “Um, okay, yeah. I can do that,” Sean agrees. At his side Alex is tense like he’s made of stone, and Charles can feel a brief irritated flare from Erik, though the other man has a rather constant baseline of irritation going on already. Said man picks this exact moment to take a particularly sharp turn, causing Charles and Sean’s skulls to snap about painfully. Charles shoots him a look that Erik pointedly ignores, yet he still eases off the gas as he pulls the car into the motel lot. The next look the metalbender gives him isn’t angered though, its worry.  
  
 _‘Just be careful. I don’t like that he’s still out there, Charles.’_  
  
Charles gives him a leveled look, hoping its decidedly blank, meaning its painfully obvious.  
  
“I won’t be long.”  
  
‘I’ll be back soon, I promise.’  
  
Erik nods, and Sean tries to ignore the fact that he isn’t even acknowledged. He squeezes Alex’s shoulder once, and follows Charles to the motel door without a word. The metalbender flies out of the parking lot like the hounds of hell are on him. For some reason, it makes Charles smile. He shakes his head and unlocks the door to their room, ignoring the itch in between his shoulder blades that comes with having his back turned to the encroaching darkness outside. Long shadows stretch across the suspect carpet, and Charles has to turn on the light to pack. It dawns on him that it’s only been a day, barely that, and he hasn’t slept since...since he last slept. He almost wonders if they should crash here after, but ixnays the idea as soon as he’s got the last charm bag packed away. Alex needs to get away from here, and Erik will feel better at home. Erik. Erik who had spent more time in Charles’ arms today than he has in a very long time.   
  
“So, uh, Charles. How’s the talking with Erik going? Got anything set up? Ground rules, or really anything figured out?” Sean asks. He leans forward and cocks his head to the side. He looks a mixture of concern and exasperation.   
  
The man in question dropped the duffel bag on the bed with a resounding thud and clinking of many weapons inside, shoving a hand through his messy brown waves. God, he could use a shower too. There were many things Charles would rather do than have The Talk with Erik. Chase a wendigo unarmed. Arm wrestle a werewolf. Have a mental battle with djinn. And that was only off the top of his head.   
  
“No, Sean, I don’t. The death of an innocent man took precedence over our petty social problems.” He’s being irritable, and he doesn’t give a damn. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he hasn’t showered since Hank’s. A man is dead, the Trickster really Gabriel got away, and oh the world is probably screwed. And Erik is not speaking to him about something. To say Charles has nothing to be happy about is a severe understatement, and it is truly a testament to the man’s patience that he hasn’t snapped sooner.  
  
“Except you two would work better as a team if you were actually conversing with each other. I mean I’m not going to say that your talk is more important than putting Scott to rest. It kind of isn’t, but while I was handling Alex you two could’ve just talked it out a little bit. Or maybe send Alex and I to check us out of the motel so you two can talk. Something! But you’re avoiding it because it scares you. It scares you to know that there is something he’s keeping from you, and part of you, a big part Charlie, wants to hide from that. Because there is a giant What If scenario painted all over this talk.”   
  
Charles shoves the bags aside to collapse onto the edge of the bed, because clearly he’s not going anywhere fast, and if he’s going to have a breakdown, he’d rather be sitting down. As it is he is trying very fucking hard to stay calm and not lash out mentally. He knows he can’t read Sean’s mind but that he doesn’t mean he can’t hurt him, or someone else nearby. It’s not until he opens his eyes again that he notices his hands are in very tight fists, and his arms are shaking with the effort. There’s little bloody half-moons on his palms when he slowly opens his hands again.   
  
“Of course I’m afraid Sean, I would be an idiot not to be. Erik and I have known each other for over a decade and this...this is the first he has ever hidden anything from me. He’s never not trusted me, not once, but now he won’t even look me in the eye. I can’t lose him, Sean.” He doesn’t point out that if the world ends, he’ll lose Erik either way, because in the end it doesn’t really matter. There won’t be a world for Charles without Erik. Not one he’d like to live in anyway.  
  
“You, you can’t just say if I talk to him, I’ll lose him! Where is Erik going to go, where is Erik going to want to go? Think Charles because maybe he’s thinking the same thing? Maybe he thinks if he tells you you’re going to fucking up and leave. I mean. You two have been together for over a decade, you two shouldn’t be, just,” Sean takes a breath, one he doesn’t really need not in the biological sense, but one he very much needs in the emotional. “Get over your fear, and fast because the longer you put this off, the more likely you are going to lose him. Because this not talking, this whole thing you two have going on, it’s tearing you apart. You’re not the well oiled machine you two think you are, or that Raven tells stories about. Not right now. Not with you two dancing around all of this.”   
  
Charles nods, running a hand over his face, because of course he isn’t on the verge of tears. Because badass demon-trained killers do not cry. He takes a deep breath to insure that doesn’t happen, and counts back from ten, because it’s taking all his effort not to lash out at the angel for pointing out everything he’s been screwing up lately. And that’s why he’s trying, because as much as it may piss him off, there is a reason Charles Patience of a Fucking Saint Xavier is pissed off at all, because Sean is right, and Charles is very, very wrong.   
  
“I know, Sean, damnit, I know. We’re turning us into a liability and we need to be sharp and ready if we’re going to beat this thing. I am an idiot, I know,” he pauses to let out a slew of curses before he continues. “I’m afraid, and it makes me an idiot. Its funny, you know, all the scary shit in the world, all the things I’ve done, and the only thing that wakes me in the night is the possibility that he’ll say no,” and now he’s taking the biggest deepest god damn breath in the world because that admission has been a long time coming.   
  
“That’s all right and good, but you’re the one who runs away. The second you feel like you’re too close, you turn tail and run. If he was going to say no, if he was going to tell you, ‘hell no get away’. If any of that was going to happen, then he’d be the one turning away. Erik argues with you enough that it shows that he isn’t just some puppy who follows at your heels because he doesn’t know better!”   
  
Charles is shaking violently now, and he’s fighting to keep a wall against his anger, against the power that is striking at his shields with the force of his fear behind it. And the mention of his name comes very close to shattering the walls altogether.  
  
“Erik thinks he’s a monster, he doesn’t think of people, of,” he takes a deep breath, because he needs to say this, at least once. Once before the end of the world. “He doesn’t think of men that way.” And it's in that moment that Charles realizes he is a complete and total idiot. How the fuck did he think he could work a job and stop the apocalypse with this mess already reaching out to strangle his resolve? How the fuck Charles could possibly consider it in his ability to ignore this and go on, living everyday like everything was just fucking alright, like he wasn’t head over heels and back again in love with his best friend, he had no goddamn idea.   
  
“What? Did I just hear you right? Erik is a human! He lives and breaths, he’ll be attracted to whomever he’s attracted to; the only problem is no one tells Erik it’s okay to act on his feelings. Actually that all you guys ever seem to do with him, careful of your emotions. Charles, if you, if you love Erik, you owe it to him to tell him, instead you’re letting this fear you have about telling him screw up everything else! I’m pretty sure this, that thing right here that’s happening, can be traced all the way back to you turning tail because you love Erik and you’re afraid to let him know,” Sean shouts. He paces back and forth, taking all the deep breaths he needs, and then stops right in front of Charles. He doesn’t move to hit the other man, he just stares. “You’re hurting yourselves by doing this, and I just can’t watch you do that.”   
  
Charles is looking up at the angel, blue eyes wide, too-red lips in a horrified o. The force of Sean’s last line is like a smack to the face.   
  
“What...Sean...what are you going to do?” and suddenly Charles feels like he could jump off a bridge. This is what embarrassment is. He rather wishes he could stop that now.   
  
“I’m not going to do anything, at least I hope not,” he pauses and shakes his head, “You know just grab the stuff. Let’s head out. Erik will probably wonder why you’re taking so long and Alex too.”   
  


~*~

  
Erik eases the car to a stop on the edge of clearing in the woods. He’s been careful to drive well away from the highway, far enough to keep them from prying ideas, because of course he doesn’t tell Alex that this is strictly illegal, but so is every other damn thing they do, so really, what makes this any different.   
  
He knows Alex doesn’t want to talk. He just needs to keep moving. So Erik doesn’t hesitate when he tells him quite simply that they need to get dry wood, as much as possible. Avoid pine if you can, he instructs, because pine can spark and the last thing they want is to set the whole forest on fire. They set out to the wood, and Erik keeps a watchful eye on him. He is one of them now, he’s earned the man’s protection.  
  
“Do you guys do this often?” Alex asks as the two meet at the ever-growing pile in the center of the clearing, well away from the tree line.   
  
“Most monsters aren’t like the movies kid,” he grunts, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, succeeding only in smearing dirt and moss across his forehead. “They don’t take care of themselves for you.”  
  
Alex doesn’t speak again for sometime, and if he notices Erik checking on him every so often to make sure he avoids poison ivy and watches out for animal holes, he doesn’t mention it. When they have enough, Erik shows him how to arrange it. Alex watches it like its a goddamn art form, because for Alex, who's never been outside the city, it basically is. And he’s glad for the work, to be moving, to be useful.   
  
“You did that trick with the car right? I mean that was you? How did you do that?” Alex asks.   
  
He hesitates only for a moment. Erik’s not used to trusting anyone, but seeing as the boy’s brother is in his trunk, he’s pretty sure they have reached that point.   
  
“Yes. I can move metal with my mind,” and he says it plain as day, like he’s talking to about something he learned in a class.   
  
“Are you serious? Wait, no I saw you do that, of course you’re fucking serious. So what’s your, er, partner’s thing?”   
  
“Charles is a telepath,” he says curtly, though it feels wrong to say, because it's not his secret to give. His only consolation is the knowledge that were Charles here he would have said exactly that.   
  
Alex’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open a little. He looks around as if Charles is going to appear behind him and tell him everything that had gone through his mind in the last five seconds. “How good is he at that?” he asks.  
  
Erik has to try very hard to keep from laughing, taking the time to instead put the last log in place. He strips off his shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat off his face, which has begun to sting his eyes. “His range isn’t far unless he’s very focused. Otherwise, he is very good at it. He also tries very hard to respect one’s privacy,” he states with a pointed state. He can’t have Alex being afraid of Charles, the boy is as entitled to his secrets as they are.   
  
“Oh, so he’s not invasive and he probably didn’t read my mind. Good.” Alex follows suit after Erik stripping his shirt off. He’s warm and he’s pretty sure that the temperature isn’t going to break much even after the sun goes completely down. “So, where did you get all of those from? Is what you do, that dangerous all the time?”    
  
“No, not all the time. Only when we get in over our heads. Most of them are from a time when I didn’t have control,”  he cringes upon recalling the period of time when the two of them were detoxing from demon blood. “But violence is what we do.That a problem for you?” he asks, debating on whether to move the body now, or wait for Charles to return. What was taking him so long anyhow? The sun is getting dangerously low in the sky, and he’d rather light this thing before it gets too dark.  
  
Erik turns back to Alex and the boy seems to be thinking about what he said. Arms folded over his chest, Alex isn’t scrawny, not like how Hank is. The boy won’t have to do much to get into shape for their lifestyle, that is, if he joins in the lifestyle.   
  
“No,” Alex finally answers, sound and resolute.   
  
The scene Sean and Charles arrive upon is something that stuns Charles for a moment. The two men don’t see them, Sean has placed them near the car which isn’t quite in the clearing, and Charles watches on as Erik instructs Alex on how to do things and they’re talking. It’s like witnessing a bigger, scarier version of himself, with slightly less vocabulary. But that isn’t exactly what stops the air in Charles’ chest. Erik is completely shirtless and sweaty. The setting sun is doing magnificent things as the light plays across the contours of Erik’s chest. It is almost as if Erik knows what the sun does, as he moves along displaying his back and the muscles along it that shift and move as his lifts his arms slightly. Charles wants to press his mouth against Erik’s scapula or slide his tongue along Erik’s spinal column. And as Erik turns to face them more, though not quite enough that he’ll see him, Charles feels a rush of heat pour through him. He’s gorgeous, it’s something that Charles is aware of, and has been for a very long time no matter what Raven says. It’s hard to stay in place when he watches the play of muscles along Erik’s arms as he moves them while speaking.   
  
Turning his head, Charles glances towards Sean. He expects the angel to have a few off the cuff remarks about how far gone he is. Except, when Charles looks at the other man he sees that Sean himself is stunned by the display. A tiny snap of jealous crackles through Charles’ stomach, until he realizes that Alex too is shirtless and that is exactly where Sean’s eyes are focused on. The jealousy fades slower than it arrived, but in its place Charles just smiles. Sean seems to feel the eyes on him and turns to face Charles.   
  
“Are you two due for a talk as well?” he quips, smirking all  too  like a certain shape shifter.  
  
“Maybe, but we’re not overdue for one,” Sean shoots right back.    
  
Charles is suddenly at a loss for words and staring at the ground, a difficult feat when one is presented with the irresistible view of one Erik Lehnsherr  in half of his glory. But Charles is feeling greatly ashamed of himself, and his actions, so it is surprisingly not that difficult at all.   
  
Sean lets out a puff of breath. Gently, he pats Charles on the shoulder and tilts his head to the side as he looks at the two men work. “Sorry, shouldn’t kick you when you’re already down, but you gotta get this settled. Me and Alex. I’m an angel, and my brother just killed his. I just want to make sure he functions.”   
  
Charles can’t stop the half-smile that follows. Sure Sean means well, but he’s staring at Alex the same way Charles observes Erik, and it has a lot more than simple friendship written all over it.  He’s smiling bright as the sun beyond at the sight of Erik explaining the dos and don’ts of fire construction when the man himself realizes he’s being watched, and he returns the grin, though Charles knows he has no idea what he’s done to put that expression on his face.   
  
He doesn’t care to know, Erik is just happy to see Charles smile.If this, just standing here, talking to Alex, makes Charles beam at him like this, he'll stand there for all fucking time and creation just see that smile. He wouldn't be standing there for long, though, and he stops the frown from crossing his face before it turns this moment into ruin.   
  
Charles hefts the bags over his shoulders with the angel in tow, ready to throw them in the trunk as always. And then he opens the metal hatch and the smell and the mess in the tarp slap him in the face with anguish and the stench of death, fresh and unrelenting. It is only years of this life that keep Charles from vomiting right there. As it is he drops the bags on the ground and takes two steps back. Erik and Alex are walking over in long strides, almost familial, but no one is smiling now.  
  
 _'Any problems?'_ Erik asks, worrying coating the words in Charles’ mind. He tries smile to reassure him, but he can't now. Not with Alex standing before him, staring into the trunk like its a black hole come to swallow him right the fuck up.  
  
' _No, everything's fine. Sean wanted to express his concern over our dysfunctional state as of late. Only in many more adjectives.'  
_   
Erik doesn't need to know what dysfunctional means to know their partnership has been shot to shit since that morning at Hanks, which Erik can recall with painstaking detail. He can't quite get it off his mind, really, but he can push it back far enough below the surface so that Charles doesn't see. Anger rises up for a moment, because Heaven be damned if the angel should have said a single word to hurt him.  
  
 _'He means well Erik, I promise._ '  
  
Alex braces his arms against the trunk, and really everyone is amazed he can stand the smell, because he takes in a deep breath that would make lesser men spew their guts and then some.   
  
“He’s my brother,” is all the boy says, and yet everyone nods, because they know it for what it means, back the fuck up and let him do this. This belongs to Alex. This is all he has left now, and damnit he’s going to do it right, he has to. There is nothing else to do for Scott now, but to insure that nothing else in this freaky ass world Alex is now a part of fucks with his brother ever again.   
  
Sean doesn’t say anything, he just steps beside Alex, cautious to keep a good enough distance that he isn’t completely encroaching on the other boy’s space. He watches with somber eyes as Alex struggles to pull the body up to deal with the weight. There is not a single word or sound uttered from the angel as he leans down and helps. With him the body seems to move more easily.   
  
Erik and Charles do not move, except to stand closer by each other’s sides.   
  
“What were you smiling at before?” Erik asks, curiously looking into Charles as the telepath is currently very preoccupied with the way the sweat highlights his skin, and in the twilight of the evening sky you can barely see the scars. And despite the anger and the sadness and the violence and the death and the end of the goddamn world Charles is grinning up at him.   
  
“You. You’ve come a long way, you know.”  
  
Charles isn’t sure when their hands find one another, but they do, and Erik’s is giving his a reassuring squeeze.  
  
“I have an excellent teacher,” he grins back, not a full blown display of teeth, but just a slight upturn of his alluring mouth.   
  
And Charles squeezes back, looking at the digits linked perfectly together, like two pieces of a very large puzzle, lost for years, and finally found, click. They are scarred, fractured, at least a few a piece bend at the wrong angle from breaks that were never properly set. They are not the hands of a warrior, they are not that properly trained. They are the hands of those crazy bastards who have seen the worst humanity has to offer and somehow, miraculously, survived.   
  
And when Charles looks up at Erik’s he’s staring at them too, like he’s been offered something precious, because this, right here, this is only thing on this wretched earth that is precious to him. Just this. They are touching and Charles is standing there with him, touching back. He isn’t running. He’s quick to notice Charles watching him watching them though, and he immediately begins counting blades of grass. In the dark. Alex still hasn’t lit the fire yet, and thats fine. He can have all the time in the world.  
  
“Erik, hey,” Charles whispers, reaching out with his other hand to turn the man’s face toward him. “Its alright.”  
  
The flames flicker to life now, growing brighter and basking Charles and Erik in their light. Charles can see the shadows on his face, the weight there, the darkness and the pain, and, worse of all, the shame.   
  
“No, Charles, it’s not,” and he’s not saying it to be dramatic, he’s not saying it in regards to his own emotional shitstorm. Its just a fact. The world is ending. Going to end. Very fucking soon. An innocent man is dead and the Winchesters know a shapeshifter stole their book and that somehow they got it from that person. Its only a matter of time before they turn up again. And then what?  
  
Charles only response is to grip his chin tighter, not enough to hurt, or even close to causing harm, just enough to get Erik to realize he fucking means what he has to say next, so he can look Erik in the eye with another promise Charles I Fucking Love Erik Lehnsherr Xavier will die to keep.  
  
“Then I will make it alright.” Its the first time in a long time Charles has given him an order, and Erk can only nod, like its just another day. Except that it isn’t. Not in the least. He can’t stop the pure fucking joy that swells inside him from breaching the surface, and Charles catches it and holds it close to his chest as they walk towards the fire together, hand in hand.   
  
Alex is staring into the flames his back to them, but Sean is still by his side, a hand placed gently on his upper back. The boys are almost shoulder to shoulder as they stand together. There is only a breath between them it seems. A slight movement could have them falling into one another becoming one thing, except the world works less like that, and as Alex turns away to press at his face, Sean allows his hand to drag across the fabric of the shirt and then drop to his side, forlornly. Alex doesn’t look back but his stance changes he seems heavier as if Sean actually pulls some of the weight he feels. Yet, neither of them move to reconnect. Sean allows Alex his moment of privacy, and Alex keeps his distance. It’s almost as if the boy can’t reach out for another soul. Sean seems to have enough of Alex’s pulling away and he moves closer, it’s all so tentative, that if Alex wants him to go away then Sean will pull back. Except Alex stands still, his head still tilted downwards, though Sean is making no move to hid his nearing.   
  
Sean places a hand on Alex’s shoulder and then turns the boy around. Charles is sure it means something that the blonde doesn’t resist the pull, instead he goes freely, and while he can’t see Alex’s face Charles knows he doesn’t have to. The boy is in pain, his shoulders almost up to his ears before Sean draws him in. Arms wrap around the blonde’s form and in the shadows they almost look as if they are one person.   
  
Erik reaches out to lay a hand on Summers’ shoulder, but he pauses midway, looking at Charles for permission, to make sure it doesn’t get bitten off or some shit. There is no anger now though, it has either bled away, or simply simmered below the surface. The telepath suspects the latter, but he nods anyway. And so Erik presses his hand into the boy’s shoulder, close to his neck but not too close, gripping it just for a moment of reassurance, just so Alex knows that they are here for him. Charles is much less threatening than Erik, and can direct his touch with his powers to soothe and calm, and so he’s rubbing slow, easy circles on Alex’s back. They don’t want to crowd, or to ask him if he’s alright, that would be pointless. But Alex Summers needs to know that they have his back from now on. Alex Summers may be without his family now, but he will never be alone. Not so long as they can help it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My darling Wife and I would like to a moment to explain a common misunderstanding in the verse that is AFN. There seems to a general misunderstanding that we, for some reason, dislike, nye hate, the boys of the SPN fandom. This could not be further from the truth. We started writing this fic because we love this fucking fandom and the verse and characters Kripke has created to torture us with. Erik and Charles dislike them for reasons that I feel are pretty obvious (isms, all the isms), and we are writing essentially from their perspective. All, if you haven't noticed, this is Season 4 SPN, and I dont know about you guys, but me personally (your Creep) would love nothing more than to smack them both upside the head.  
> With that said, we you hope you really enjoyed this installment, and continue to enjoy the fucking chaos to come.  
> /Creepips out


	10. Just a man and his will to survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you think about the end, your thoughts always go right back to the beginning.

It isn’t until they’re on the road that Charles thinks of it. With Erik begrudgingly in the passenger seat and the two boys in the backseat. Alex is passed out, his face rather serene, except for a few moments when his expression crumpled. Sean lays a gentle hand to his face. Quickly after, Alex’s brows and mouth relax, and he lets out a soft sigh as he shifts once more in his sleep. Charles, to be perfectly honest, is curious by what exactly the angel has done. Part of him also wonders if the angel does that often, just putting sleeping minds to ease. It’s with that thought that his mind screeches RAVEN. He nearly drives off the road, and gets a brief confused look from Erik as he does. The taller man rights the car, and Charles does nothing to deter him, instead he actually pulls his hands from the wheel, and fishes for his cellphone.   
  
“Can you steer for a while?” Charles asks. Erik doesn’t say anything he just nods, still blinking owlishly at Charles. “Thank you!” He fishes around some more before pulling out the blasted thing. It’s a toss up as to whether he should dial Hank or Raven, though Raven might not have any phone on her at the moment, so Charles decides to go with Hank. The phone rings a couple of times before Raven’s familiar voice comes over the line.   
  
“So, who fucked what? And how bad is it? Oh! And how did that case go? Last I knew you guys got into a scuffle with those Fucking Winchesters,” Raven says without so much of a hello.   
  
“I don’t know exactly what that first bit is supposed to mean or hint towards, and don’t explain. But the case got a little messy. Which, by the way, is why I am calling,” Charles replies.   
  
“I was asking if you and Erik finally got your shit together and fucked each other’s brains out. Seeing as you’re still as grumpy as normal I’m gonna go with a no.” Charles can hear behind her the exasperated noise that Hank makes. “Oh, stop you were thinking the same thing. Well, when you weren’t busy.” There is a pause as a muffled Hank replies to Raven and she laughs. “Right, anyway, so case is FUBAR and you wanna tell us about it?”   
  
“The Winchesters recognized the book, they also knew that a shapeshifter retrieved it. Which means we might meet them again, and I need you to lay low Raven. Actually both you and Hank need to keep your heads down.”  
  
“Charles, we’re already fucking doing that, and honestly I’ll be fine even if I decide to go out. I’m one shapeshifter in a fucking million and we never look the same. For all those fuckers know I could be impersonating Elvis in Vegas and marrying people.”   
  
“Don’t you mean killing them or something?”    
  
“Uh,” Raven stops for a moment before cursing, “I fucking hate my kind, but yeah the Winchesters could think I was in Vegas impersonating Elvis and killing the rich brides and grooms and then wearing their skins. We are so fucking creepy.”   
  
“Just, Raven I know you can slip by, but things are not the same. I don’t know how we’re going to stop this one. So, just stay home, play house or whatever you do with Hank, and we’ll be there soon. Maybe then we can figure something out.”   
  
“I don’t play house Charlie-boy, I play with whips and not silver chains,” Raven teases, “Though I think you two could have a lot of fun with that. You know seeing as what Erik can do with metal.”   
  
“Thank you for that Raven. We’ll see you soon.”   
  
“I am happy to oblige you with spank material, no need to thank me, and I’ll be watching out for you and a black Impala if those morons actually get lucky and find out about this place.”   
  
“Oh! Before you hang up, we have a new addition.”   
  
“Shit, you two keep adopting pretty soon you’ll be like one of those celebrity couples with a half-dozen kids. I solemnly swear I will only teach them the necessary things, like how to make sexual innuendos and what most pop culture is,” Raven tells him gleefully.   
  
“What would we ever do without you?” Charles replies dryly.   
  
“Be bored out of your ever loving minds. Now, break those pesky sound barriers and get back to safety with my new baby brother or sister!” She hangs up then, not allowing him another word, but Charles can’t help the smile that. Things weren’t always this way, Charles glances over at Erik who is still steering the car with his abilities. He takes the wheel and nods at the other man. Erik releases his hold, and it makes Charles think about their history. The end of the world does funny things like that, remind a person of how much time they spent working up to get what they want. The thoughts clog his throat, and as he glances at Erik, he can almost see that Erik is in the same place: the past.   
  


~*~

  
When Charles is but six months old, he is subject to the foster care system. He goes through a lot of families, some nice, some not so nice. Charles is a very bright boy, sometimes too bright, and as it turns out many parents do not enjoy having a child who outsmarts them. The bad ones makes Charles worse. For some reason he cannot decipher for many years, Charles is very empathetic. If someone is extremely angry, Charles gets upset for no reason at all. If someone is feeling lonely in his home, the boy becomes depressed for no reason at all. And he has deja vu, a lot, but he considers all of this, every aspect of this, to be very, truly, normal.  
  
At ten years old Charles finally meets the family he calls home, a very well-off couple in upstate New York who could not otherwise have children on their own, and his name becomes Charles Xavier. They send Charles to a very nice school where their very nice boy can grow and thrive and be surrounded by like-minded individuals. It has taken ten years and twenty nine homes, but Charles is finally, truly, happy.   
  
His happiness, however, is horrifically short lived.   
  
A twelve year old Charles Xavier is on the train home from school. He's reading  a book on DNA and heredity for school, and wonders if of his doting parents would be so kind as to take him to the library this evening. He's completely enamored by this subject matter, and thinks perhaps he may want to be a scientist when he grows up. A teacher, maybe. One of the ones that wears stuffy clothes and has lots of degrees and just looks so fucking smart, because he is.  
  
Suddenly, the train lurches to a stop, nowhere near a station. There's the collective sigh as people know what comes next. Charles reaches for the phone, which of course has no service, to call his mother and father. He is blinded by the background screen of his parents when the lights go out, the bright screen from the sunny photograph making his face clear as day even in the darkness. When the emergency lights flicker on again, the phone is on the floor, the book is on the seat, and Charles Francis Xavier is nowhere to be found.   
  
He wakes up locked in a cage made of clear bars, he can't tell what, but they're not your standard metal, that much is certain. Before him is a bottle of red liquid and a bowl of something off color and unidentifiable that he suspects passes for food. Outside the bars is a man, grinning widely, the face you can only see on those who you know to completely off their ass insane.   
  
"Ah, Charles, so glad you're awake. Pity you could not have joined us sooner, I would have loved for you to have seen Erik's latest bout. Splendid bit of skill really, the way he used his own shackles to decapitate his pyrokinetic advisory. Impressive, really," he explains, in the tone of an extremely pleased parent after his child has won a very important game. He's gesturing to the drugged boy so he'll move his weary head towards the cage beside his ,where an older boy is crouched down, wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans that are threadbare, torn, and stained  with what he can only assume to be blood. His scarred and bruised body speaks of many battles, and his waist is far too thin be healthy. But he isn't scrawny, somehow in confinement he's put muscle on his bones. His grey eyes seem vacant, and his brown hair is long, messy and unkempt. He must have been there for quite sometime. The boy doesn't speak, doesn't even acknowledge his presence. He's guzzling the bottle down and letting it drizzle down his defined jaw and off his chin. It is too viscous to be punch.  
  
"That cannot be healthy," is the newcomers only response. Charles Xavier, smartass till the bitter end. Though as he would always explain to the school bully, Cain, it was better than being a dumbass.  
  
"On the contrary, blood is composed mostly of water, so it serves its purpose just fine. Eat, drink. Trust me little Charles, you're going to need it."  
  
"To do what?"  
  
"To survive."  
  
He is quick to explain to the boy why he is here. Because the boy is special. He has powers, though small they are now, a diet of demonic blood will bolster them once more. He explains that he will foster and grow these abilities in  various bouts to the death for food, for water, for survival. To be chosen to bring Satan back on Earth.  
  
Charles is pretty sure he's been taken by the craziest fucking cult this side of wherever the hell  here is.  
  
The demon named Seb did many horrible things, but lying was not one of them. Not unless it suited him. Not unless someone asked about his supposedly disbanded project. Charles found out very soon exactly how honest he was being.   
  
He eats the food before him like its his last, but despite the sandpaper-like feeling of his throat, he does not touch the blood. He'd sooner die, and very quickly contemplates a way to make that happen. He doesn't get much time to think it over though, for its only a few more moments before the man who introduces him as Sebastian "But please, call me Seb," unlocks a door on the opposite side of his cell he hadn't noticed. And that’s when he sees it. All of the cells, facing each other in a semi-circle, make up the walls of the ring. The concrete is permanently stained browned, with fresher red splatters from the last fight.  
  
Most of the cells are occupied. The few that are not occupied by a boy with white hair, another with nails that look like claws whose behavior is even more terrifying than the one Seb calls Erik, and a girl with piercing eyes that make Charles give his head a shake.  
  
Erik's tied down on the other end of the clear space with thick, jagged rope, and Seb, smiling as always, is handing him a knife. Which the young boy takes, considering, for a moment, before despondently stabbing the man in the torso, where he remembers the stomach to be from science class. The acids should spill out and kill him painfully. But he doesnt seem to be in any pain at all, even as the knife is covered in scarlet ruin, dripping on the floor, Sebastian seems entirely unphased. He blinks, and then laughs, as if Charles has done the funniest thing on the planet. Charles realizes then it isn't a cult anymore, and he's never been more terrified than that moment when Seb pulls out the knife, wiping it on his black trousers, and hands it back to him with a pat on the shoulder, and a reassuring "Trust me, Charles, you're going to need that."  
  
Charles takes it in his hand, testing his grip this time. He thought killing someone, or attempting to do so, would be much harder, much more difficult for him to do, morally speaking. It frightens him, it is so easy.  
  
When Charles steps in the ring, he thinks Seb is being way too easy on him, tying poor Erik up with no weapon to even defend himself with. Just as Charles is going for negotiations, the giant fucking Bowie knife is flying out of his hand and into Erik's ropes, cutting through them in seconds. The boy shakes them off with a growl that cannot be human, and he's staring at Charles with black eyes, lifeless, soulless, head cocked to the side like he's found something interesting. He's holding the knife in his hand like its an extension of him, something he's done all his life, and Charles realizes that he has as he charges for him.  
  
"Stop! Erik!" and the next part, to Charles own surprise is not said out loud, he can feel it echoing in his mind though like a shout only he and the boy can hear. ' _You don't have to do this! I can help you! Erik, we shouldn't be killing each other, we should be killing HIM'  
_  
"Now Charles," Seb tuts, "This is no time for negotiations."  
  
The boy does stop, mostly out of shock, because he's never heard another voice in his mind before let alone one that speaks Seb's language, because Erik sure as shit can't, as Charles is just now finding out. But it is that pause that gives Charles hope. The boy can be saved. There is something there, making him stop, making those eyes go from solid black to a human white with muted grey.   
  
_'We don't have to be like this, Erik, we can be free_ ,' but the words are falling on deaf ears, Charles realizes, as Erik's response isn't even words, just feelings. Confusion, mistrust, anger, and yet more confusion. So Charles tries to remember everything in the past two years of his life that has made him happy, he feels them like he's there and projects them at the boy, because Erik's never known happiness, never known family. His earliest memories are only cages and bloodshed. _'Free Erik. Free.'_  
  
 _'Free?'_ he thinks back, and again he is beyond confusion and simply trying to understand. But he gets enough. The feeling that is good that Charles is giving him is free. _'Yes Erik, free, but you need to help me-'  
_  
"That is enough! Erik! Finish him or I will end you both!"  
  
Erik snarls, and like that he's gone from Charles mind, and Charles is back in his body with a knife in his ribs and his blood on the floor and he is sure without a doubt that he is dying. He won't get to be a professor or a scientist or anything more than a scared twelve year old boy. But at least he didn't have to kill anyone, and if nothing else, he is grateful for that.  
  
 _'Erik, don't give up. Get out of here, Erik,'_ he cries out to him with the dying vestiges of his psyche as the world is growing dark at the edges. _'Remember, free Erik. Free.'_ And the world grows black, but as it does, Charles could swear he hears Erik whimper, like a puppy that’s been kicked. And if he wasn't crying before, that about does it. And he doesn't have happy thoughts when he dies, his life doesn't flash before his eyes then, because there isn't much of one to speak of. Just false hopes and dreams unrealized.  
  
But of course, as Charles knows today, flying down highway *whatever the fuck it was* to the place they currently called home, death is never that easy.  
  
Charles doesn't come to right away, or all at once, it is a series of psychic echoes and fits. He knows he isn't dead, but he knows something is wrong. Something doesn't feel right. And then he siezes, until someone does something from the outside, and he's out again. The next time he comes to, he is aware, but not awake. His body won't move, its weak and out of balance, and doesn't really feel like his own anymore. He's searching with the only thing he can, with his mind, for something, anything, to hold onto. And he finds Erik, curled up in a ball in his cell, and he's not angry, or violent now. He's just sad. Charles reaches out to him, and startlingly enough, Erik can feel it, recognize it like a scent.  
  
 _'Free?'  
  
'Yes Erik. My name is Charles Xavier, and if you help me, I will set us free.'_  
  
And the unconscious boy can feel the other's agreement, and a sort of, psychic touch, its the only way young Charles can think to describe it, that voice on the wind you can catch when you're not paying attention. Thats Erik latching on to his essence and holding it close, like its the most precious thing he's known, because it is. Because Charles isn't a person to Erik, he is happiness and hope and all things strange and bright Erik has never known, has never wanted to know, until now. And he wants it with everything he has.  
  
Today, a full-grown Erik is reaching out for him in a much more physical manner, moving his hand to rest on the telepaths thigh before giving it a reassuring squeeze. Charles glances over at him to see a wealth of concern, and when he looks up at the rear view mirror there are tears in his eyes. Further inspection shows the boys are sound asleep in the back seat. Charles puts his right hand on top of Erik's, and squeezes back.  
  
When Erik first met Charles, he wanted to kill him. He nearly does. Erik is raised only to take power, to seize, control, and destroy. He is more animal than human, a mindless, moralless, mute killing machine. There is nothing else. And strangely enough, that is perfectly alright by him. It is very easy to lose oneself in the sheer rush of killing, the feeling of taking a life, of having it in your hands and crushing it like something more than human, better than, when you've never known happiness. It is easy to be lost when you've never known affection, or caring, or love.  
  
Charles changes all of that with a single thought. A memory, Erik later learns, of life outside of these walls, a world beyond the blood and the slaughter and a demon tampering with your blood. A thought, a feeling, and a word. That’s all it takes, and Erik is his.  
  
Every day Charles is away, the voice in his mind grows stronger. It is the only thing that keeps Erik going. He lives and kills by its promise. Everyday he wakes up to Charles whispering in his thoughts, repeating the very same message. And one day, when Erik wakes up, Charles is there in the cage beside him, smiling weakly. He's changed now. His eyes are black as pitch and his mind is not a timid, quiet thing, but an all-encompassing beast. He doesn't smell like the clean little boy who came in here many days ago, he smells like them now. But he's not one of them, he is still Charles, and his plan is still the same.  
  
"Hello Erik, my name is Charles Xavier, do you remember me? Nod if you do," and Erik responds in kind. Shaw has taught him that much, very basic yes and no non-verbal communication is all that is required to answer Shaws orders. That, and a swift execution. And of course he remembers, how could Erik possibly forget this boy and the feelings he has shown him? That he has given him?   
  
He still hurts him, it is impossible not to, but just because Erik is slicing his skin open doesn't mean he doesn't love him. He's throwing a fake after all, saving Charles from as much as agony as he can with shallow blows. Charles bears many of his scars, and many more from others because despite what Seb demands, the boy does not kill. He uses his newfound powers to render his opponents unconscious, but never to the point of fatality. The display of mental strength satisfies the demon, and Charles quickly becomes his new favorite, despite the many times he is backhanded, kicked, and beaten for defiance. But Charles is patient, more so than Erik, who gets his own ass handed to him for using his powers on Seb in an attempt to stop him, but of course, what are demonic abilities to a true demon?  
  
He kills, he conquers, he wins, and sometimes he almost dies, but in the end Erik always comes out on top, because now more than ever, he has something worth fighting for. And its not something with a name, a singular feeling you can put a clear cut label on and observe changes in light and behavior, its a series of events that build that relationship that the two men share today. Its Charles never flinching from Erik when he’s killed another rival, always accepting, always forgiving, though on this he see’s nothing to forgive, no wrong committed at all. Its a young boy from a cushy family in New York taken from a train one day talking to the mind of a broken feral teenager everyday, until he learns to silently speak back. Its everytime Charles takes another minute to explain something without an ounce of frustration or hesitation. Every memory he shows him, and every happy memory he gives him.   
  
It’s that something that gets him to put words to his thoughts, that gets him to speak, to fight for something more. Because Erik isn’t saving lives for redemption. Erik has no such fucking illusions of grandeur, he never has, and he never will. Erik does what he does because at the end of the day is the man who made him everything he is, the man who took every blow, every mistake, every act of rage and defiance unflinching, and without hesitance. Erik stays with Charles and fights the good fucking fight because somewhere in the mess of a head of his he knows it’s the right thing to do, and really, its the only thing to do. Charles could have escaped to some semblance of a normal life, but Erik’s never known it, never tasted it, and sure as hell would never adapt to it. This: killing monsters, hunting things, honing weapons and stitching wounds, this is normal to Erik Lehnsherr. And though his idea of normal is a nightmare to most, it is his home, and he damn well like its here.   
  
He especially likes it when he is roused from his trip down nightmare lane by a hand on his shoulder, giving a firm squeeze, followed by a coaxing voice. Charles thinks he’s been sleeping, and though he’s been awake the whole ride through, Erik feels surprisingly rested. He looks dangerously weary to the elder man, yet Charles still manages to smile. Small, and tired, it still makes Erik’s heart pick up speed, and his hand is holding Charles own. Neither of them knows how it got there, and neither party is willing to let go.  
  
“Would you mind taking over for awhile?” He asks, taking in Erik’s figure, which is finally at ease, lounging in the car like he doesn’t have demons on his trail and the fate of existence on his broad shoulders. In the car is one of the very places Erik relaxes, not even at Hank’s does he drop his guard. There is in fact only one other place in the whole of existence Erik finds comfort and calm in, and that place is in Charles’ arms. And of course the fucking caveman think there is not a damn thing strange about it, the reality is not a fucking shade close to whatever the goddamn continent of normal is. Of course Erik is a pretty strange asshole himself, so when the thinks about it, he doesn’t give a shit either way, not when Charles is holding him.   
  
“Of course,” he agrees, because really what else would he do, and ever so reluctantly, he lets go of the man’s hand. Climbing out of the car is a process, involving the stretching of many joints and crick in one’s neck. It is in fact so laborious that Erik does not notice Charles body beside him until his arms are wrapped tight around him in a warm embrace, oblivious to the cars flying by down the highway beyond, because fuck people. The world is fucking going down in hellfire and every fucking minute counts from here on out. So Erik clutches him right back, and it is only the need to get home that gets him to let go. Charles’ smile is much brighter this time, and Erik’s responds in kind. Then they’re flying down the highway again, and though Charles sleeps, he doesn’t so much dream, as remember.  
  
His brain it seems is trying every way possible to get him to save the world. It conjures up all of the best memories of Erik he has since their escape. The funny ones, the brilliant ones, and the ones that make him shiver.   
  
There is the day when Charles first explained to Erik how the microwave works, a device whose waves befuddled Erik’s power, and he had to explain right away that the only thing Erik couldn’t put inside it was metal. Of course, Charles should have made that list to include bugs, redcaps, glasses of beer, pixies, cursed objects, poisonous snakes, and Nokia cellphones. For a time Charles had to ban usage of the device entirely. And though disgusting and often horrifying as Erik’s experiments with the microwave were, they never failed to make them laugh.  
  
One morning Charles wakes up to find Erik reading the morning paper, and he has a moment where everything seems frightfully normal. Then Erik turns it over to reveal the headline “Grisly Animal Attack Kills Three Campers, Fourth Missing,” and though all the normal stops, the astonishment is still the same, because it’s the first time Erik is reading unassisted. They discuss the article over coffee and stale donuts, and Charles cannot stop beaming from ear to ear for the rest of the day. Its the following afternoon when Erik, now able to navigate without Charles help, picks out the 66 Barracuda, which despite its gas-guzzling and not-stealthiness and what the hell kind of fed drives a muscle car, Charles agrees to purchase with him, because it’s also the first time Erik has ever asked for anything, has ever made a demand on Charles, and that might just be the most important thing of all.  
  
The first day Erik talks is also the first time Charles realizes his feelings go far beyond simple friendship. He’s supposed to be out cold in his bed from hard alcohol and blood loss, but when Erik strolls out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, Charles is wide fucking awake. But his brain is still too addled for Erik to sense it, and so, completely fucking oblivious to the pair of eyes on his very wet and holy-mother-of-fuck-what-are-those-things-under-his-hips, Erik takes off the fucking towel. This is not new for  Charles, except for the fact that he’s actually doing it with a light on, and Charles sees everything. And its that moment he realizes he is not infact picky about women, he just doesn’t swing in that direction. He swings in fact in only one fucking direction and that is the one of the dripping wet because it's humid as fuck so forget toweling off in a few minutes its not gonna fucking happen Adonis of a killing machine standing just a few feet from him. It is not until Erik slings a pair of loose-fitted boxers over that fucking length that makes him terrified of the arousal in his belly that Charles ‘wakes up’. And then Erik is at his side with a glass of water and a demanding gaze of concern. And Charles smiles, because the boy who could have killed him a million times over saved his life instead.   
  
Charles smiles today because despite what everyone says about Erik, despite the suggestions and the back-handed comments and all around fucking bullshit remarks of a normal life without the less-than-tame metalbender, Charles does in fact need Erik fucking Lehnsherr, Charles fucking Xavier would not have survived at all if not for that damn glancing blow. If not for Erik I Will Microwave Anything That Tries To Kill You Lehnsherr every scar on Charles body would have made him fall down and never gotten back up. The world thinks that Erik The Caveman Lehnsherr would not survive without Charles Bookworm Xavier, when the truth is that the Bookworm would not be there right now without the Caveman at all.  



	11. If We Kissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two roads on where things begin and one where they continue on as they have. 
> 
> The If is always the biggest wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or basically where we crank the UST up to eleven. Because yes. Thank you to all of our reviewers! We hope you enjoy the ride some more.

They arrive at Hanks home near morning, both of their bodies aching from the long drive. As Erik parks the car, he shares a glance with Charles before they mentally debate on who is waking up Alex and Sean. It only take a few seconds before Charles lets out a tired sigh and waves him off. He leans down and pokes his head through the window stretching and arching to manage to grab a hold of Sean or Alex. His fingers brush against Alex’s clothes and the younger man immediately jump his arm flinging out, catching Sean hard in the chest. The angel gasps awake, lurching forward with wide, wide eyes.  
  
“What?” Sean asks he looks between the three of them before he grabs at Alex’s offending arm and pulls it away from his chest. The other boy doesn’t quite settle, not at first, but he does eventually stop giving Charles wary looks as he turns his attention to Sean, who is rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Are we back?” the angel asks.  
  
“Yes, we’re back. Do you want to get Alex out, we’ll make sure there isn’t anything questionable before he enters,” Charles answers. He slides a look towards Alex and tries his best smile. Except, after the night of driving he’s had, Charles isn’t too sure he’ll be able to give a fully cheerful smile. As he turns back around however, he notes that Erik is still by the front door, waiting for him. There is an agitation along Erik’s limbs one that he’s sure settled in sometime around 4 am, but it’s an agitation Charles is beginning to get used to.  
  
“Yeah, sure I can do that,” Sean speaks up from behind him. Erik still shifts in his place, and Charles almost forgets that he is even asking Sean to do anything. There’s a part of Charles that feels so hollow with the distance, with the cold and tired agitation that Erik exudes with every breathe or movement. He knows they need to talk, Sean is right and they need to speak, but Charles can’t push it as far as Sean wants. So, instead he walks up next to Erik and looks at the other man dead in the eye.  
  
“Waiting for me?” He goes for a light hearted teasing but the expression in Erik’s eyes just dull for a moment before he looks away.  
  
“You would be able to handle Hank and Raven’s...situation far better than me.”Charles nods his head, he isn’t sure if that is what Erik actually wants to say and as much as he wants to push and prod at Erik, he isn’t ready to talk either. Instead he pushes open the door and is greeted with the sight of a half dressed Hank bending over the couch with his jeans not quite fully buttoned and his shirt completely off.  
  
“I, hello Hank am I interrupting anything?” Charles asks with a squeak.  
  
“You know it’s called knocking Charles,” Raven calls out. She walks in, nothing but a towel wrapped around her. “And yes, you did. Welcome home!” She spreads one of her arms wide and gives him a grin, the other still holding dearly onto the towel.  
  
Charles forces is a smile, which is only half-way forced. He wants to be happy for her, and truly, he is. But it is as wonderful as it is frustrating. Charles wants nothing more than for his friends to be happy, but there is nothing he wants more in the whole wide world than to have these same moments with Erik. He wants them so badly he can hardly breath, but it’s like he’s on a roller coaster that’s rails are out and Erik isn’t even looking at him, not even noticing that despite the edge coming so fast that this isn’t going to become better while they fall down.  
  
The sound of Hank’s shuffling feet draws Charles out once more, but the wound is still there, festering and aching. The way Raven playfully pulls at Hank’s jean and the werewolf squawks with embarrassment is like salt on a wound. There is an ease between the two of them, one that Charles knows wasn’t there before, but in his absence Raven has found someone. He tries to cover it up as she glances over at him, but something has to show because she stops grabbing at Hank’s waistband and instead toes back a little.  
  
“I’m going to put some clothes on or something. Why don’t you and Hank talk about where to set up the new addition.” She gives a short wave and then rushes off towards the room that Charles is fairly certain is Hank’s.  
  
“So, about where-”  
  
“I am so sorry, but I really like her and she’s just, she’s Raven and it won’t happen while you’re around I promise!” Hank splutters.  
  
“Hank, really. I, I really don’t want to know. Where is Alex going to sleep? We’ve had a long drive.” This is polite Charles code for ‘I need to cuddle with my fucking caveman and go the fuck to sleep. Now.’ Hank nods quickly as if bobbing his head up and down like a maniac will make the embarrassment go away anytime soon. Charles turns, ready to call to the boys and possibly Erik, that the coast is very clear. Before he can open his mouth, however, Sean waltzes in with a scowling Alex in tow.  
  
“Hello, Henry, nice to see you again!” Sean greets cheerfully. “This is Alex Summers, Alex is this Henry McCoy.”  
  
“Um, er, right. I, I don’t have another room, so you guys are going to have to flip for the couch,” Hank says. He motions awkwardly towards the furniture and for a moment Charles feels bad for him. Its a difficult position he’s being put in, having to welcome someone in who is a complete question mark. But Charles it too tired and all he wants to do is press his face against Erik’s neck and breath in his scent and then sleep. He wants that, all of it, but it’s only a precursor to what his entire being seems to ache for. Charles turns away, he can’t though, he can’t do that. They need to speak.  
  
“Sean, where is Erik?” Charles asks. He looks around the main room and there is neither hide nor hair of his friend.  
  
“Outside, playing with his keys. I was going to go talk to him, but Alex is dead on his feet,” Sean replies. He motions towards the blonde who is already shuffling over to the couch and flops down face first against the cushions.  
  
“So, I guess you guys aren’t flipping a coin for it,” Hank says softly.  
  
“No, plus I really don’t need to sleep.” Charles opens his mouth to ask if Sean was sleeping in the backseat, but he decides quickly it’s best that he does know and instead he moves back towards the front door. No one makes a comment his way, Sean is too busy hunkering down by the couch and Hank has already run off to some other room in the house.  
  
It’s like everyone is trying to give him room, Charles muses. Like there are brightly colored arrows all pointing outside and towards the disgruntled man standing there. And who is Charles to ignore fate or whatever the hell it is. He moves slowly though, just in case Erik wants alone. He doesn’t give it, it hurts to leave Erik all alone when he’s in pain. It’s like leaving his entire other half of his body to rot. No one can survive that, and Charles is no miracle.  
  
He steps outside and there Erik is twisting the keys one over another like a ferris wheel, a painful smile overcomes his face as he thinks of the faire. He’ll have to take Erik to one, before it all ends. Before the fires come up or whatever they are, before Lucifer tap dances across the Earth’s crust and ends them all. Before all of that, he needs to let Erik see some pure joy.  
  
Before he really notices, Charles is reaching for the hand at Erik’s side. His slides his fingertips against the pads of Erik’s fingers, and there is no reaction. Charles expects to shatter as Erik seems to ignore him. He doesn’t fall back, he won’t back down, for some reason, maybe because it’s the end, he won’t let this fall into the cracks of the things they won’t talk about.  
  
“Erik,” he says the name softly, like if he says it any louder it will destroy them both. The keys stop.  
  
“What do,” Erik breathes out like it hurts him, his eyes close, “what do you want me to say? What do I say?” Charles steps closer and with his other hand he presses his fingers against Erik’s jawline. Erik’s muscle works beneath his fingers, it sends a sweep of want through Charles, but he reminds himself not now.  
  
“I want this to be better, Erik. Please, we, I, need to make this right.” Erik turns towards him. His gaze is hooded as he locks sights with Charles.  
  
“Talk?” The word seems to tumble out of Erik, almost as if he never meant to say it at all in the first place. It startles Charles, it shouldn’t but it does, and he nods.  
  
“Yes, let’s do that,” he manages to get out. Erik’s smile is a little broken, but it has a bit of pride nonetheless. “We’ll have to have it in our room. The boys, they’ve taken the living room.” Erik nods, agreeing quickly.  
  
They pick their way through the living room, past the sleeping Alex, who has his hand resting atop Sean’s chest almost possessively. And a most likely not sleeping Sean, who just lets him. Charles bites the inside of his cheek. Erik says nothing, he just trails after Charles almost as if he is a shadow. It doesn’t take long, not really, to reach the room, but for Charles it feels like years since he’s seen their bedroom. Or the bed they often share.  
  
Charles is barely on the bed before Erik wraps his arms around him, pressing their bodies close. Charles just wants to surrender right then to every emotion that threads through him. To feel Erik’s body wrapped around his without a stitch of clothing between them, find every erogenous zone on his body and make him squirm with delight. Its an image he cannot get out of his head now that they’re both home and here, together. To show Erik that he truly does love him in every way imaginable, and a few neither of them have yet to think of.  
  
His hand dives beneath the fabric of Erik’s shirt before he can think to much of it. What he tells himself is that he needs to connection he needs to moment of balance. Despite the images in his mind, the very ones he doesn’t want to show Erik yet, Charles just burrows closer, into the strength and the vulnerability. He’s about to open his mouth, to talk. When there’s a knock on the side of the door.  
  
They both snap their heads towards the direction of the noise, and there stands Hank, fully dressed, and shifting his weight. He looks like he’s about to wet himself, but after a few moments of silence, of Erik glare, Hank takes a deep breath.  
  
“Before you guys turn into right now? Can I run something by you?” he asks. Charles wants to say no. He wants to push Hank away because he’s encroaching. When Erik’s hand rests on his hip, Charles can hardly pay attention to Hank. But he needs to get this over with so they can return to just them.  
  
“What is it Hank?” he asks finally.  
  
“I think maybe we should make a call to Bobby. Not exactly state who I am, but maybe I could get a few books off of him. I know that this whatever it is has to deal with Lilith and I’m pretty sure she’s part of the final seal. I just don’t know how. I need more information.” Charles frowns, he has to pull further away from Erik if only just to look at Hank more closely.  
  
“No,” Erik rumbles out. He sounds angry. “No, he leads to those Fucking Winchesters.” Erik is nearly shaking. “The second they realize who you and Raven are. They will kill you. Without regret. Why in the fuck would you ever want to contact them?” The table next to them rattles by the metal nails. Hank looks disgruntled almost as if he’s about to argue back. From the werewolf, Charles feels the irritation at the thought that he hasn’t gone over all the variables of the plan.  
  
“Hank,” Charles breaks in before Erik can cause any damage or Hank can provoke him, before they’re back at square one. But before he can go on to tell Hank that right then he can’t talk about it or even think about it, Raven peeks her head around the corner, her blonde hair dried and curled.  
  
“There you are!” she calls out louder than she needs to. Hank looks at her his eyes wide and his mouth still slightly open from whatever retort he was going to fling at Erik. Raven’s eyes dart between the three of them before she pulls at Hank’s collar. “Were you talking about the plan? Oh, honey don’t do that! Let them either sleep, or actually get fucking laid.” She turns her gaze to Charles. “Which you two really, really, really need to do. It works wonders on the mood and it makes things just a hair clearer.” She holds up her fingers and allows only an inch between her thumb and forefinger.  
  
“B-But,” Hank stutters. She shakes her head.  
  
“No buts mister. Plus, if you’re worried about not being able to take your mind off of it, well,” she starts to pull at her shirt. “I can always help you keep busy. Feel like a red head tonight?” she finishes with a wink. Charles isn’t sure Hank’s face can get any redder as he stares at the shapeshifter.  
  
“C-Can you go a little blue?” Hank pitches his voice so low, that Charles is fairly sure that he wasn’t supposed to hear it. At his side, Erik makes a growling noise.  
  
“Oh honey I can go whatever color you want, but we better get out of their room before Erik rips you a new one for getting in the way of his sexy times.” She smacks Hank on the ass and gives Charles, or maybe it is Erik, a wink before saying, “Ride ‘em cowboy, I know I will be.” Raven pulls Hank out of the room and to where Charles assumes Hank’s room is, but not before she shoots a grin over her shoulder.  
  
Once they are gone, Charles feels that whatever was building between him and Erik doesn’t quite have the same push as before. He can think more clearly, and he’s unsure if he likes it or if he wants the heat back. No, he knows he wants the heat back. Yet, instead of trying to push for the heat once more he sends forward soothing feelings through their neglected bond. It seems to work, the tension along Erik’s shoulders slides off allowing his posture to droop a little. He leans closer to Charles curling around him once more.  
  
Charles feels almost as if Erik is going to surround him completely, and he won’t mind a bit if that’s what happens. If the only air he breathes in is Erik. But that is only what Charles wants, and not exactly what Erik really fucking needs right now.  
  
“Do you still want to talk?” Charles manages, oblivious to the way he’s running his hand through Erik’s hair.  
  
“Do you?” he asks, grey eyes pinning him to the spot. The hand freezes.  
  
“I..well...we probably should.”  
  
“Okay,” the metalbender shrugs, “what are we talking about?”  
  
“Ah...” and suddenly, Charles doesn’t have the slightest damn clue about that. He’s toying with Erik’s collar, making a lot of “ers” and “hms” between pauses, and suddenly he’s quiet all together because he’s playing with the collar of Erik’s shirt and now the first button is undone and Jesus fucking Christ when did neck’s become so sexy because mother of fuck the things he could do to it right now could fill a very dirty novel, perhaps even three.  
  
“About us,” he sounds out, elongating the vowels in an uncertain voice, like he’s struggling with phonetics for the first time.  
  
The terror in Erik spikes up abruptly, smacking against Charles shields with a physical force.  
  
“Charles, the way I’ve been acting, I didn’t do it to upset you.”  
  
The man in question smiles, taking Erik’s hand on his hip and lifting it between them. He gives it a reassuring squeeze, and Erik’s staring at the sheets as if he’s determined to guess their thread count.  
  
“I know, Erik, and nor have I. Don’t be upset my friend, this is as much my fault as it is yours. I haven’t been easy either, and for that I am truly sorry.”  
  
He’s looking up at him with something like freaking puppy dog eyes, which on the face of Erik I Will Kill You Where You Fucking Stand Lehnsherr is a heart-stopping fucking thing, like innocence on the face of a goddamn mountain lion.  
  
“You’re not mad at me?”  
  
Charles has to stop himself from laughing, but he can’t hold back the smile that breaks out across his face, pulling dimples in his cheeks.  
  
“No Erik, not at all. I was not, I would never be truly angry with you, not ever. We’ve just been too caught up in the anxiety of this whole end of the world thing, that we’ve forgotten what’s important, and what’s important is us, and a promise I made to you a long time ago. I promised you freedom Erik, and I’m sad to say I have yet to truly give it to you. So tell me my friend, what is it you would like to see before the world comes to a close?”  
  
Erik shakes head, denying he needs such things, denying that he deserves it at all.  
“Charles, you don’t have to do this.”  
  
“Yes Erik, I do,” Charles insists, because its the truth, and its the right fucking thing to do, squeezing his hand again. “I owe you this much.”  
  
“I think,” the metalbender says without much pause, “I would like to see the ocean.”  
  
“Okay,” Charles nods, beaming with a smile, because of course Erik has never seen the ocean. Sea monsters are one of the few myths that have so far remained as only that.  
  
“You showed it to me when we were,” Erik couldn’t bring himself to say the words that followed, “Do you remember?”  
  
“Of course!” Charles exclaimed, pulling the man closer. Going to the beach with his family was one of his fondest memories, and the boy Charles could think of no freer force on this earth than the ocean itself. “Anything else?”  
  
“A theme park. One with lots of those big metal rides. You know the ones. They’re like suspended trains-”  
  
“A roller coaster.”  
  
“Yes!” Erik says a bit too loudly, and Charles puts a finger over his lips to remind him the others are still sleeping, but of course he’s still smiling, so no one is clearly upset by the noise here. “I would really like to ride one, at least once.”  
  
“Is that all?” he asks, because Erik has that look, the one he doesn’t get too often. In fact it is one Charles has not seen in sometime, in which the elder man becomes very enthralled in something, in order to avoid something on his mind. And now the man’s face is turning red, and he’s refusing to look anywhere, except where Charles’ hand is resting on his own.  
  
“Erik, hey, its alright. You can tell me anything.”  
  
He mumbles something unintelligible, and God save him the action is so fucking cute it has Charles smiling from ear to ear.  
  
“Use your words, darling,” and its not supposed to sound teasing or flirty, but it does anyway. Fuck.  
  
“A kiss. I would...I would like a kiss.”  
  
It takes Charles a moment to speak. His eyes are wide, his heart is palpitating, and all he can get out is “ums” and “ers” and a single “well....”  
  
“I just...I want to know what it feels like. It looks so weird. I just...” and he looks just fucking sad as he admits the last, “I don’t get it.”  
  
“Its a sign of affection,” Charles struggles to say clearly, hoping its dark enough now that Erik can’t quite see how red his face is. “It...um...it can feel really nice, especially if it’s with someone you love.” And of course Charles has said all of this while looking at Erik’s lips, which are suddenly closer than they were before, and oh God he’s looking at him expectantly, Jesus fucking Christ Charles what the hell have you done. He can see Erik’s breathing coming in pants, feel the heat out of it, pouring over his lips from Erik’s own.  
  
He gives him a chaste peck on the cheek, and hastily snuggles close to his chest, keeping his distance from those tempting fucking lips, because fucking hell the type of kissing Charles has in mind would only lead to trouble. And by trouble, he means sexual adventures in great and filthy detail.  
  
He can’t see Erik’s hand on the kissed cheek like he’s been given something sacred.  
  
“It does.”  
  
“Hmm?” Charles asks, looking up at him from where he’s nuzzling Erik’s pectorals.  
  
“Feel nice.”  
  
Charles only response is to cling tighter to the metal bender, arms around his slim waist, nuzzling as close as he can. The moment is interrupted by Raven’s distant gleeful laughter.  
  
“Goodnight Erik,” he whispers, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Sleep well, my friend.”  
  
“You too, Charles. Sleep well,” Erik yawns, wrapping around Charles like a human cocoon, sighing in perfect contentment.  
  


~*~

  
Raven laughs again and Sean just tries to ignore it for the most part, but during his restless sleep Alex has somehow managed to thread his fingers into Sean’s hair and is holding onto the locks lightly. He also has found some way to contort his body so that the bridge of his nose is pressed along the back of Sean’s neck. It’s like somehow Alex has curled onto the narrow couch, which Sean if very curious as to why a lanky man like Hank even owns, to find a way to press most of his body against whatever part of the Angel he can get to.  
  
He’s starting to realize what Charles is going through and he really can’t believe the man has been stomping down on all the emotions that flicker in his chest for the years that he has. Alex murmurs in his sleep and his breath somehow manages to cut through Sean’s hoodie like it was a cold wind, except it’s very warm and it sends a shock of feeling through his stomach. One of Alex’s knees brush against Sean’s sleeve and when Raven lets out another peel of laughter, or whatever the hell she’s doing, Sean is pretty happy for the distraction away from the way Alex is practically curling around him.  
  
He thinks maybe he’s a hypocrite, but then again he’s an Angel and Alex is a mortal. A terrifyingly fragile mortal. Sean’s seen humans rise and fall like the waves, he’s seen them age in what felt like a blink of the eye. His timeout really wasn’t that long, not when he thinks of all the time he’s been awake. It was like a few minutes in the corner until he got pulled out by some friends.  
  
The next sound that rumbles through the air isn’t Raven, it’s a mix between a growl and something Sean can’t put his finger on. Yet it’s once more enough to pull him from his thoughts. He looks around for a moment, yet the second he does his cheek brushes against Alex’s hair and forehead and he stops. There is this urge deep and low in his stomach that wants to press a kiss to Alex’s forehead. Except he’s not in denial enough to not know exactly why he wants to. It’s not just to comfort Alex who is probably in the throws of a nightmare if his furrowing brow is anything to go by.  
  
Hank makes another noise, it’s so loud that Sean is very surprised it doesn’t shake the entire house or send Charles and Erik rushing from their room. Instead he gets a sharp knee to the shoulder as well as an elbow or something to the back of the head as Alex jerks awake, his eyes filled to the brim with fear. His hands are clutching the cushions and Sean just keeps still.  
  
“What the fuck? Why are you so close to me?” Alex throws up the barb like a soldier would a shield protecting himself from the reaction that Sean, if human, would’ve had a few bruises from. Not that Alex hasn’t done enough to have given him other ones if he less immortal and untouchable.  
  
“Just keeping watch,” Sean tells him. He won’t shatter what little Alex is holding onto. “Are you okay?” he asks, veering the conversation away from him.  
  
“Do I look like I’m fucking okay? Shit, you ask the stupidest fucking questions sometimes. Fuck. Where’s the kitchen?” Alex barely hides a flinch as Hank makes a noise, but this time it’s accompanied with Raven’s own cheerful giggle. Sean stands, brushes off the nonexistent dust from his clothes, and wait for Alex to make the first move for him to either stand up or crumple a little.  
  
“I know this is hard. I mean, I am shocked that you’re taking this as well as you are,” he comments brightly. “But the kitchen is this way. Do you want water, milk, tea, or see if we can rustle up something?”  
  
Alex glares at him.  
  
“Right then, this way.” Sean makes a motion that the thinks is probably too big too wide and flailing, but he’s walking across the living room and towards the kitchen like a man on a mission. Yet, as he moves as he listens to Alex’s footfalls behind him he wonders how Charles and Erik do this. How they sooth all the hurt and pain and how they just don’t wrap each other in their arms and tell them how much they mean to them, because Sean would like a big fucking lesson in that.  
  
He’s pulling the glasses down ready to pour whatever Alex wants when arms wrap around him and the top of Alex’s head falls against the back of his neck. Sean doesn’t say a word he just stop moving as Alex’s body shakes and quivers, as the tears soak against his hoodie. He didn’t even like the hoodie overly much anyway. Alex can soak it if he fucking wants because it’s Sean’s fault that he couldn’t save Scott. He couldn’t save anyone. Clenching his fist, Sean tries to remember what humans do when the emotions crash into them and almost drown them. He tries to just focus on the wooden cabinets before memorizing the grains and the patterns. He watches them as Alex continues to pour his sadness on his back.  
  
He never looks back because that will shatter everything.  
  
He won’t make a sound because Alex needs the silence. If he could he’d silence Hank and Raven, but apparently his father is being kind to him, wherever that bastard is hiding at, because there are no more noises coming from the master bedroom. So, he stands in the silence and he lets Alex soak the cloth on his back. Because Alex is alone and it’s a large part his fault. It was his family. His wayward big brother. Sean tilts his head down and stares at the glass before him.  
  
Part of him misses it all heaven, his siblings, the garrisons, his surly mentor. A larger part of him wants them all to just stop and see what they’re doing, who they’re hurting, and what beautiful creatures his father’s creations are. They are worthy to be jealous of, but also to be commended for surviving their short lives. His brothers and sisters should see Alex now, standing strong, surviving after what one of their own put him through.  
  
Alex’s fingers spasm against his stomach.  
  
Sean takes a chance, he takes one hand from the counter and places it atop Alex’s, his fingers slotting with the mortal’s. Alex goes still, but then it’s like he can’t pretend not so soon after he’s let it all go. His cries are softer now, and Sean almost wishes he hadn’t touched him. Except he brushes a thumb along Alex’s skin and then hums low. He doesn’t sing a song that Alex knows, he doesn’t even really sing for Alex. His voice is soft and low, like a lullaby, something slightly disjointed and almost like he’s only half-paying attention to it as it drips from his lips like a syrup. Alex’s weight increases slowly until Sean feels the tears abate completely and Alex’s breathing even out.  
  
He smiles a broken smile before he tries his best to turn around and not topple Alex over onto the floor. Somehow he manages and Alex is just slumped against him, he has his hands on the blonde’s waist.  
  
“Shit, how do they do this?” he asks no one. He wants his mentor, he wants someone to tell him if it’s okay for him to feeling the things he is for a mortal. Someone whose life is like blink. “C’mon let’s get you to bed. Maybe this time you won’t have nightmares, hmm?” He tries to get Alex in something akin to a fireman’s hold, but Alex is almost exactly his height and it feels like one wrong move and he’ll have Alex sprawling out on the floor. He’s on his second try when he hears feet.  
  
“Need some help?” Raven asks. She’s wearing a bathrobe and she’s tinged blue much like she was when Sean first appeared.  
  
“You have time?” he shoots back. Raven just smiles.  
  
“Oh, sweet baby I got all the time for a firecrotch like you,” she tells him.  
  
“Oh really? And how does Hank feel about that? Because I would rather not be torn to shreds. I mean Hank and I got this sweet thing going on where we’re bros and I’m not on the top of his list when he changes.”  
  
“You think that’d change if he thought you were making moves on me?”  
  
“Most definitely. I don’t think he’d wait until he transformed.” Raven’s head goes back ands he laughs. It’s loud almost too loud and Sean wants to shush her but she quickly covers her mouth.  
  
“I like you Flyboy, so do you need help?” she asks again.  
  
“Just make sure he doesn’t fall over to get too jostled?”  
  
“Can do, so do all angels swing that way or are you guys like humans that you just have all sorts?”  
  
“I, I don’t know. We’re not exactly BFFs with humans or really around each other too much to really get to know. It’s more of keep the peace, follow the rules, sign the dotted line, work, work, work, work.”  
  
“Soooo, that’s why most of you are jackasses. You need to get laid. Makes sense, just get the higher ups laid and then they won’t want an apocalypse.”  
  
“Spoken as a person who is getting some.”  
  
“You know, Flyboy, I have one question, how in the hell do you know what sex is when those two yay-hoos don’t have a fucking clue?”  
  
“I think it’s because angels are like professional stalkers except walls don’t bother us,” Sean tells her honestly. They’re halfway to the couch when Raven stops and just looks at him a wide grin on her face.  
  
“I really fucking like you. If you weren’t going on goey on this The Outsiders wannabe and I didn’t have my beast, I would proposition you.”  
  
“I think you already have.”  
  
“Well then, right on track!” Raven pats the shoulder that Alex isn’t occupying. She gives him one last wave goodbye leaving him to somehow set Alex on the couch. “See you in the morning, firecrotch,” she whispers from the door. “And watch his head.”  
  
Sean waves her off, and he gently as he can he tries to put Alex on the couch. But the blonde’s head still smacks against the armrest. Except he doesn’t wake up, he just makes one of the more endearing disgruntled noises Sean thinks he’s ever witnessed and rolls over. The angel lets out a breath of relief and slumps onto the floor.  
  
“Well, I guess it’s time for six hours of silence,” Sean says to absolutely no one.  
  
But Charles hears him. Psychically, he cannot hear an angel’s thoughts, but emotional fields are all the same. And just as Sean is lying there lost on what to do with Alex, the telepath is curled up around and somewhat on top of Erik, who thankfully is fast asleep. Charles can’t get the feeling of Erik’s smooth skin under his lips out of his mind. It spirals out of control in his sleepless mind, each fantasy become more elaborate and impossible than the last. It is only when he is beyond exhaustion, and his control starts to slip, and he sees the same thoughts echoing in Erik’s mind that he latches onto the man’s unconscious mind, and allows himself to be pulled under along with it.


End file.
